


The Summer Soldier and the Sunshine Patriot

by Cchambers



Series: The Summer Soldier and the Sunshine Patriot (SS&SP) [1]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: (kinda), American History, American Revolution, Angst, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Historical Accuracy, I suck at tags, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Major Character Injury, Me taking you on a tour of 1778 Pennsylvania, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Multiple, Period-Typical Sexism, Secret Relationship, Valley Forge, sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25074556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cchambers/pseuds/Cchambers
Summary: "The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph."Elizabeth Walker knows her place in the world, but that doesn’t mean she is happy with it.That doesn’t mean she is happy to be staying- to be sheltered- at her father’s estate while he deals with congress in York, and her older brother, Joseph, deals with the parties and games of Philadelphia, while she makes sure her house stays put- and out of British hands.And that doesn’t mean she is happy to be dragged into the war itself, after months of defeats outside Philadelphia, when finally on a cold December night, a dying soldier shows up at her door, and his commanding officer follows.But, deep down, a part of her is happy when it means change- change in the war, change in her life- when she is recruited by the young, passionate, and downright angry Major Benjamin Tallmadge to help revive the army’s dying supply system and keep the men staying at Valley Forge alive.By whatever means possible.
Relationships: Benjamin Tallmadge/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Summer Soldier and the Sunshine Patriot (SS&SP) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061144
Comments: 31
Kudos: 35





	1. Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thank you for choosing to read SS&SP! I just want to say that if I post more of this story, they will be scenes I have written randomly- some are from the beginning, some are from the middle, and some are from near the end. The story takes place from December of 1777 to June of 1778, the duration of the Valley Forge Encampment. So it may not be "chapters" per say, but rather more of "one shots" that are all connected to form a bigger picture. That's just how I write. Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoy :)

The major.

He was sitting in the kitchen, hidden in the darkness, in the pre dawn dusk and dimness- no candles were lit, and the fire was gone, extinguished. It was deadly cold, as if someone had left the back door open, like the nights Joseph came back from the taverns, too drunk to close it, too drunk to remember how to do anything. That was her first though, as her feet touched the floor-  _ someone needs to shut the door. Someone needs to start a fire, bring back the heat and the light.  _ But the heat and light were gone- would they ever come back? The entire house was shrouded, defeated by the darkness and cold. 

No, it was not that- it was  _ death. _

__ It hung in the air, thick like summer fog. It was impossible to escape, caught in every corner, peeking through every nook and cranny. It followed her up the stairs, crawled into bed with her as she fell into a fitful sleep. 

She couldn’t stop hearing it- hearing the cries and screams of Brooks, shaking on the exam table, clutching her hand and trying to pray. Hearing the major calling out his name, hearing his soft, strangled sobs behind the closed guest room door. 

She couldn’t stop seeing it, seeing Brooks’ face as they pulled him in, as they hoisted him up onto the table, how pale he was when he realized what was happening, when he heard her father whisper “He’s dying, Elizabeth.” She couldn’t stop seeing the major, storming through the foyer, running down the hallway, his sword’s shadow reflected on the walls, creeping towards the ceiling.

And she couldn’t stop seeing him kneeling at the foot of the bed, on his knees, his head in his hands. He was trying to pray. He was praying for Brooks’ soul. But the prayers did not work, the prayers were too late. He collapsed onto the bed, laying on his side, and that was when he started to cry. She hated herself for watching, for allowing the memory to form in the first place. 

She should have left then. She should not have stood at the top of the stairs, looking over the railing like a nosy, immature child. She should have known better, given him space. But he thought he was alone- and that was the only reason it happened. She should have told him she was still there. She wanted to see if he was able to fall asleep.

How could he?

The major.

He was sitting in the kitchen, on a stool at the end of the table- the servant’s table, where they made meals eaten in the bedrooms and dining hall, but where they sat to eat all three of theirs. The kitchen was the start of the divide between the rest of the house- her house, her bedroom and the parlor room, her father’s office and Joseph’s sitting room- between the rich and the poor. Her father’s exam room was in between. It had seen too much bloodshed to be shown to anyone. 

They brought Brooks’ body through the kitchen.

He left the same way he came.

The major.

He was sitting in the kitchen, on a stool at the end of the table, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hiding his shirt- it wasn’t his own. They had to wake up one of the male servants- Sampson, who chopped all the firewood, who worked the horses and the oxen- to borrow one of his. It would’ve been impossible to get the major into one of her father’s or Joseph’s shirts. He was taller, his shoulders slightly broader, his torso filled out. Joseph looked like a boy compared to him. It was too late to give him back his own shirt- Mary was always thorough and gentle, but there was too much blood to wash it, remove the smallest of stains. It wouldn’t be dry or clean.

The major.

He was so silent and still, it was hard to believe he was real, that she could reach out and touch him, remove the blanket and see a man. He was a ghost, moving in slow motion as he ate and drank whatever one of the servants had laid out for him- which ones were awake? Mary was still sleeping outside her door when she left. How did he find his way down here- he entered through the front door.

He didn’t see her father and Joseph move the body.

She moved closer, as close as she could without making any noise, without starling him- they’d taken his weapons, but it was hard to tell how he’d react, how he’d look at her. His glare towards her father hours earlier was more dangerous than his saber or pistol. She only wanted to watch him, just for a little longer. She was sickly fascinated by him. The house was so lonely, so unaccustomed to company- even in these dreadful, terrifying circumstances. She welcomed the different energy, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, the fear boiling in her chest.

For the first time, she was involved in something.

_ Do not think that way,  _ she told herself. _ Look at what happened, look at what brought him here. A helpless boy died, and you watched. You should be running for the hills, locking your bedroom door. It doesn’t matter that you’re on his side. He brought death with him, you know that. Stop being so desperate for change, Elizabeth. _

But weren’t they all desperate?

Was that not why they were fighting this war?

The major.

Steam rose from the coffee cup he held, and he ripped off another piece of bread, stuffing it into his mouth without hesitation, like a dog ripping off skin from a bone. He was undone- even in the midst of chaos he looked like a gentleman, his thick blue coat and silver épaulâtes, his hair wrapped into a soldier’s queue, the soft black ribbon. The coat was gone, and his hair was pulled back into a plait instead. The sleeves of Sampson’s shirt were rolled up his elbows- it did the job, covered what needed to be covered, but Sampson was a giant. His shirt did not belong to a gentleman.

Is that what the major was?

Could she think of him as one- when he had been feral, unhinged and untamed? He pointed a gun at her brother, treated her father with contempt.

Maybe it was what they deserved.

They were not fighting the war.

They were in its way.

_ Was she? _

It was time to reveal herself.

She stepped out from the doorway, out from behind the hearth and the fireplace, holding onto the frame to steady herself. Was it appropriate to do this- to see him, to speak with him? She pulled the shawl closer, covered herself as best as she could. She was still wearing her nightdress underneath, the fabric clinging to her back, rising above her ankles. At least her hair was done- Mary made sure of it. Usually, she let it down, but Mary was uncomfortable, fidgeting and frantically putting it in a bun. “If tonight was like most nights I’d let it be, Miss Lizzie, but this is different.”

There was a  _ man  _ in the house.

“Good morning, Major.

He jumped out of the stool, sent it screeching across the floor, eyes instantly focused on her; he cursed under his breath. Was he still angry? Was it too late to turn back- maybe he was still exhausted, could imagine he saw her in a sleep deprived vision, a waking dream. He covered himself too, tried to wear the blanket as if it were his coat, tried to muster up the energy, the presence of an officer. It wasn’t believable, a foolish farce. He looked absolutely ragged and torn, threadbare. 

He bowed his head, “Miss Walker.”

It was hard to figure out if that was a welcome or a dismissal, but she stepped forward anyway. It was  _ her  _ house, after all. She spoke to whoever she liked, wherever she wanted. 

_ Whatever helps you feel like you have a purpose, Elizabeth. _

“Did you sleep well?”

She didn’t know what time it was, hadn’t bothered to look at the clocks on her way down. It couldn’t have been long, easily not long enough to get a good night’s worth. She felt as if she barely closed her eyes- what time did any of this happen? Time didn’t exist as Brooks breathed his last few breaths, as the major arrived and broke down and- time didn’t matter. Time was fruitless. Time changed nothing.

“As well as I could, Miss.” 

He awkwardly stepped back to the table, reaching behind his back to straighten the stool. His eyes didn’t leave her. He looked sorry, guilty. 

Did he see her on the staircase?

“Please don’t let me interrupt you, sir.” She said. “Please continue eating.”

He reluctantly eased back onto the stool, instinctively reaching for the coffee. He finally moved his stare elsewhere, and she breathed again- he was magnetic, catching her, holding her by the throat. 

“It was a very nice offer of you, miss,” he spoke again after another bite of bread, “truly. The bed was quite comfortable, and it has been awhile since I’ve slept indoors. It was more than I needed.”

“Officers don’t sleep indoors?” She asked.

Joseph did, on the rare occasions he actually joined the Continentals.

But when did he ever follow rules?

The major shook his head, “A select few do. Generals and their favorite aides. Most of us live in tents. Though I have the luxury of having my own.”

What did sleeping outside feel like? The bugs nipping at you, the heat strangling you in the summertime.

And in this terrible cold?

The cold would take them all.

Would it take him?

Just as it had taken Brooks.

The cold would strip them of everything- their clothes and shoes, their food and supplies, their firewood. She knew the struggle they’d be facing- it was hard enough to keep the estate running in winter, the roads to Philadelphia cut off by snow, crops gone and the trees dying. Her father and brother always made a point to complain about being trapped, away from their clients or the taverns and gaming rooms. 

Elizabeth didn’t know any different.

She took the reins of the conversation and steered it into a different direction- she didn’t want to think about the winter, about the men in tents. He must’ve felt the same way. 

He was the one living it. 

“You would have been welcome to breakfast with my father and I, sir.”

He would’ve been given anything they wanted, whatever they had, instead of coffee and bread. And the breakfast table would feel different too, feel as electrified as the kitchen did by his energy, his presence. Would he talk to her? Joseph wasn’t sober enough to sit up. She was lucky to get a conversation, a sentence, out of her father- he spent breakfast writing letters. Letters to the other delegates of Philadelphia. Congress had lost their capital, but not their cunningness. 

The major was holding himself back, restrained, his jaw clenched. “I do not wish to dine with your father, miss.” 

_ And what did he ever do to you? Besides help you and your soldier- your friend? Besides offering his home and hearth? His food and a warm bed, as you said? _

_ Did her father know him? _

There was more to their relationship than meets the eye, but it was hard to gather evidence, hard to find pieces of the problem.

“What will you do, then?”

He paused, eyes darting across the kitchen, as if he were remembering where he was. He looked out the window, toward the road. “I’ll go back to camp- and I- I will take Brooks with me.”

_ The body. _

_ “We buried him beneath the snow,” her father was washing his hands, the water turning red, the bandages scattered across the floor, blackish in the candlelight. He was washing his hands, but it wouldn’t come out, the blood caked in his fingernails, up to his wrist. They were all drowning in it. “Tell the major we buried him in the snow, Elizabeth.” _

“My father already saw to that, sir.”

His face changed suddenly, betrayed and hurt. “He should have been buried in a soldier’s grave. He deserved it.” 

But he didn’t look as if he believed it.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t know you had graves made for them.”

“Every camp has a graveyard, Miss Walker. When you lose three battles in a row you make sure of it.” He sounded so old and weary, each word dripping with a contained, exhausted anger, worse than the biting cold.

They fell into an awkward silence- she was dumbfounded, lost. What could she say to him? Could she apologize? Could she comfort him? Would he let her? 

Or was it time to leave- leave and never look back, bury the night and the dawn away in her memory, bury it with Brooks.

The major sighed- the bread was gone, the coffee pot empty. The sun had started to rise, faint rays of light reaching across the hardwood floor, the snow outside unbelievably bright. “I’ll ride back to White Marsh this morning.”

He was going to leave, and life would be normal, as normal as it could be.

She hated it.

“And then where?”

Where could the war take him?

And would he go?

She heard whispers- whispers between her father and Joseph. She was trusted with the accounting books, the inventory, but Joseph was welcome to the world of politics, the rumors and the gossip, the secrets and the lies. The army was rife with deserters, leaving with the warmer weather, running away in the snow. 

“I can’t say I know for certain, Miss Walker.”

He rose from his seat, and he stepped forward, stepped forward until he stood directly in front of her- he still looked so tired, so jaded and sharp, but his eyes were warm and kind, the same blue as her favorite dress. 

“You’re always welcome here, Major-”

_ Oh, dear god. _

She didn’t remember his  _ name. _

“Major Tallmadge, miss.”

Was that a hint of a smile?

Now  _ she  _ was seeing things.

“You’re always welcome here, Major Tallmadge.”

“Thank you, Miss Walker.”

Major Tallmadge’s eyes would never be as warm as his smile.

His small, boyish smile.

He walked out of the kitchen, and the morning sunlight took his place.

She was alone again.

Sometimes, it felt as if she always was.


	2. A Begging I Will Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth joins her father at a dinner with General Washington and his "military family." Things don't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I just want to start this off with a warning. This scene is very, very long. At first, it started off as one scene, and then I ended up with three separate scenes that all needed to go together. I may've gotten a bit carried away, but I enjoy the final product, and I hope you do too! Kudos and comments appreciated! Thanks for reading! Also, if you want to keep up with me/SS&SP, go follow my Turn tumblr, tallmadgeandtea . Enjoy reading!

She was going to meet the general.

Her father had brought it up casually, over breakfast, not looking up from his letters, his eyes hidden behind his reading glasses. It was just them, as usual- why would Joseph come? He had no reason to- he wasn’t desperate for company, and especially not the company of their father. On the rare occasions they were both home- which were becoming even rarer- they avoided each other. Her father avoided having to scold and lecture, her brother avoiding the arguments and screaming matches. It was better for all of them to wait until her father could return to being an exiled member of Congress, and Joseph could return to being a citizen of Philadelphia. He didn’t care which side he was on.

She sat across from him, watching him, wondering who the letter was from now, who took priority in the pile of papers, in the stack the servants brought in, as if they were part of the meal. The letters were what her father ate for breakfast, shoving aside the smattering of meat and bread the servants had prepared. She only had her tea to keep her company. Her father barely spoke- he looked up as she walked in, dressed for the day- with nowhere to go, nowhere to be, and gave her a small, satisfied smile. “Good morning, Lizzie. You look lovely.” 

And then he was quiet, in his head, in the meeting house instead of the dining room.

It had been several days, almost a week, since the incident, as her father had referred to it. 

It had been a week since Brooks had died, since she watched him take his final breaths, since he had died holding her hand. It had been a week since the screams and cries filled the house- if she focused, if she closed her eyes, she could still hear Mary’s shriek of terror, feel her shaking against Elizabeth’s chest as they were kicked out of the exam room, as her father began to work on not the boy, but the body. That was what he became.

It had been a week since the major arrived, since she watched him run into the hall, with his saber and short musket and bloody face. It had been a week since he had asked her to stay, to have somewhere to sleep that night. It had been a week since she had given it to him. And it had been a week since she watched him cry himself to sleep, faintly sobbing as the fire burned. It had been a week since the major left her, standing in the kitchen, thinking of his name.

Major Tallmadge.

It had been a week since her life had changed, but only for one night, only for one morning.

_ And why do you want more? _

“Elizabeth?”

Her father was speaking to her.

He finally stopped reading the letters.

Maybe her life would change after all.

Then she noticed what he was holding in his hands- a piece of paper, the seal unbroken, the wax shining in the winter sun, almost glaring at her.  _ No, he’s not reading it. He’s put his glasses down. The stack is dwindling, the stack is nearly gone. Is that the last one? _

She swallowed a sip of tea, managed to speak. “Yes, father?”

“The letter is addressed to  _ you.” _

She practically jumped out of her seat to take it. 

It was pathetic that she couldn’t remember the last time someone had written her a letter.

She never received one from her childhood friends, the friends she had before her mother died, who promised her they would keep in touch, after they said they were sorry, so very sorry. Joseph never sent one while he was at college, ignored her, even after she begged him to write to her, to remember her. Her father didn’t write while he was in York. “I’ll be home whenever I can get away, Lizzie. I don’t have the time or the paper to waste to simply tell you I’m alright.” She had to find out what she could through the servants, Mary rehashing it for her as she did Elizabeth’s hair.

There was her name, neatly scrolled across the parchment in dried, black ink.

_ Miss Elizabeth Walker of Philadelphia. _

No one had written her a letter before.

_ Dear Miss Walker, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to thank you and your family- for your kindness in helping Lieutenant Brooks in his final hour of need. I wish I could have been there sooner, but there is comfort in my heart, knowing that you were there, holding his hand. He must’ve thought you were an angel. _

_ Young Brooks would not want you to feel sadness or guilt because of his death, Miss Walker. Nor do I.  _

_ Thank you for helping  _ me _ in my hour of need as well, Miss Walker. If there is anything war has taught me, it has how often we take for granted a warm hearth and a bed beside it.  _

_ I hope we may meet again, but in different, lighter circumstances. Perhaps you can save me a dance at the next ball you attend. Though, I must tell you, I am not much of a dancer. I am a country boy, better on a horse than on the dance floor. _

_ Your Obedient Servant, _

_ Major Benjamin Tallmadge  _

_ 2nd Continental Light Dragoons _

“Is it from the major?” 

Her father had returned to his own letters, but she detected a hint of surprise in his voice, a hint of suspicion. Why was he so wary at just the mention of him?

“Major Tallmadge?” She caught herself before she said what she was thinking-  _ Benjamin. His name is Benjamin. _ Not his rank, not his surname, but his real name, the one given to him by his father and mother. Why hadn’t she asked him before he left? “Yes, it is. He thanked me for letting him use one of the spare rooms.”

Her father raised a brow, moving onto the next page, “And no mention of the man who owns the spare room in the first place?”

She shook her head, “He doesn’t mention you, father.”

“One would think Washington would train his soldiers to be more appreciative and respectful.” He muttered under his breath, but she heard it, “If he teaches them anything at all, that is.”

“Washington doesn’t have time to worry about a mere cavalryman, father,” she said.

Another letter read, another taken from the pile. “Tallmadge is on Washington’s staff, Elizabeth.” 

“He is?” 

What did the general need with a major? Weren’t his aides and generals enough?

“Yes,” her father huffed, “a member of His Excellency’s so-called “military family”, if what General Gates says is true.”

“And you believe him?”

Gates stayed in close quarters of Congressman, instead of camping with Washington and the rest of the army. Elizabeth knew, because her father would talk about the dinners he invited his favorite delegates to. 

He never offered to escort her to one.

“Perhaps you’ll see the truth for yourself on Thursday, Elizabeth,” he said.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“General Washington invited us to dinner.”

-

She was going to meet the general.

It was rare to have company for dinner. Her father always left before evening came, early afternoon, as if he couldn’t stand being away from his politics, his colleagues. On the days he left, the carriage drove down the road at exactly noon, trying to beat the rise of the high afternoon sun. Joseph was never home for dinner. Dinner was spent drinking at places she could only imagine, places she pretended to forget existed. Whorehouses and taverns, dark alleys and dining rooms- dining rooms that now belonged to British officers. Whatever society Philadelphia had left fled before Congress ever thought of doing the same.

No matter how much she hated it, no matter how much she dreaded it everyday, Elizabeth ate dinner alone. Alone, at the head of the table, staring down the two rows of empty chairs, with no glasses or plates in front of them.  _ Try to focus on the meal,  _ she told herself the nightly mantra.  _ Try to focus on what you have, instead of what you do not.  _ She had meat- beef, poultry, pork. Wine, coffee, or tea. Fresh bread to break. Gifts she should have been grateful for, instead of spending her night dreaming of company. Gifts she should have acknowledged, instead of listening to the servants outside the closed doors. They only came in when she was done, when they had to collect the scraps. Whatever was made went to them, anyway.

Tonight, they wouldn’t have to wait for her.

She was going to meet the general.

She searched for a memory: the last time her father had hosted a dinner, or took her to one. When her mother was alive, dinners were a frequent occurrence. Dinners for visiting family members, dinners for family friends, for the other members of their social circle. The Morrises, the Rushes, the Reeds, the Shippens. Nights were spent between the sitting rooms and the dining room, under the chandeliers. And dinners without guests were still spent as a family, with her father at the head of the table, and her mother and Joseph beside him. Near the end, if her mother was strong enough, she ate her dinners- bowls of broths, cups of tea- sitting upright in bed. 

Dr. Joseph Walker did not host dinners, but meetings, when it all began. It made sense for the richest patriot in Philadelphia to offer his home, his study, to his fellow co-conspirators, his colleagues. And after her mother died, the meetings became more frequent. Joseph Walker threw himself into the Rebellion, and then the Revolution.

Elizabeth stopped attending dinners.

She was going to meet the general.

It wasn’t a high society event. It was a dinner to celebrate the victory at Saratoga. It was a dinner requested by Congress- something her father was a part of, something the general had to obey. It was a dinner at a tavern, instead of a dining room. The general had arranged it, had rented it out on a short notice, her father told her. 

“I would have said no, Lizzie, but I am the only delegate dumb enough to come back here. I’m the only one available to meet with him.” 

_ Thank god you are,  _ she thought.

She was going to spend the night outside- outside of the house.

And what did it say about her life?

_ It states what you already knew: your life is pathetic, compared to your old friends, the girls your mother invited to dinner. Do you think they would be shaking in their seats at the thought of dining in a country tavern with a general and his soldiers? They’d be somewhere else. They wouldn’t even think of accepting it. _

_ They have options. _

_ And you have none. _

She was going to meet the general.

The sleigh turned onto the next fork in the road, slightly rocking as the horses barely avoided the snow. Winter was quickly approaching, slowly waking up after a year long sleep. It was in its still stage, the uncertain stage- a few flurries, a few squalls over the past few weeks. December was weak compared to the next two months.

They started to approach the crossroads, the tavern in the distance, standing out amongst the trees and the roads. No one was traveling tonight. No one traveled while the army marched. What if she could see them- all of them, every regiment and militia? What if they were camped outside the tavern itself? Did the general ever leave them behind?

“Now remember, Elizabeth,” her father was speaking, but she was watching the roads become shorter, the tavern become closer. “You will address General Washington as “His Excellency” when you first meet him, and then afterwards you will address him as “sir.”

And then what did she do?

Did she curtsy, did she hold out her hand and wait for him to kiss it? Did she bow her head, or turn her cheek, speak when spoken to? 

Did you curtsy to a man fighting a king?

The sleigh came to a sudden stop.

“Come now, Elizabeth,” her father jumped out of the sleigh first, wiped the snow off his breeches. He held out his hand.

She was going to meet the general. 

The general was  _ outside. _

The general was waiting for them.

His silhouette stood in front of the building as they walked up to the tavern- her father walked in front of her, briskly, as if he was moving quickly just to get it over with. She walked slowly, felt the snow touch the hem of her skirt, her cloak. She wanted time to move as slowly as possible. She didn’t want the night to end before it began.

Her father stopped, and she did what she was told. She waited behind him, watched as the man walked down the path, his cape flying behind him.

“General Washington!” Her father called out- he now wore the voice of a politician, upbeat and eager. Forced and fake.

“Congressman Walker!” His deep voice traveled through the cold air like a gust of wind, strong enough to make the trees sway and the shutters shake.

General Washington was standing in front of them.

He appeared from the darkness, standing in the snowfall, his cape slowly falling, his head high as he wore his hat, as he stood tall. He was remarkably tall- taller than her father and Joseph, taller than the major. Or maybe he just appeared that way, larger than life. Maybe she was just seeing things, trying to make tonight more exciting than it was.

Washington tipped his hat, extended his hand. “Good evening, sir.”

Her father bowed his head, “Good evening, Your Excellency.”

“It will be a pleasure to dine with you tonight, Congressman,” Washington said, “I have been eagerly awaiting a meeting with you or one of your colleagues, sir.” His smile was serene, but it didn’t reach his face, his eyes. Even the general had to rehearse, give in to frivolous social cues.

“As have I, sir. Though, I hope you do not mind that I have taken it upon myself to bring a guest tonight.”

She was going to meet the general.

“My dear daughter, Elizabeth.”

_ Hold out your hand. _

“Good evening, Your Excellency,” Elizabeth said, managing to keep her voice steady, delicate, demure.

Her father smiled.

And so did General Washington.

“Miss Walker.”

He took her hand and kissed it.

And it was a  _ real _ smile- genuine and almost cheerful, soft and kind, mature. It was not acted out for her father’s pleasure, it was polite and gentlemanly. It was more of a warm embrace than a smile. It was comforting.

It was a sign the night was going to go well.

Wasn’t it?

Washington gestured to the tavern, “I believe we should go inside, Congressman. Dinner will be served soon.”

“Lead the way, General.”

-

“Miss Walker,” Washington took her hand, “allow me to introduce you to my aides and staff.”

Suddenly she was in front of all of them, and they were watching her, eyes fixed as if they were about to take aim, holding out their muskets instead of their hands. It was unbelievably intense and fraught, tension filling the tavern air, overpowering the cold wind from the outside, the wind hitting the shutters, shaking the first floor. Washington moved to the front of the receiving line, ready to show off his sons, display them like trophies- the entire meeting had so far been nothing but a farce, false smiles and fleeting phrases being thrown in her face. _ They’re not trying to impress you. _ She wasn’t foolish enough to think that.  _ They’re trying to impress your father, practically begging on their hands and knees. _

She was only there for one reason- to keep the conversation as light as possible, to make them tow the line. She was a warning, a barrier between her father and the hungry, desperate soldiers. Between the Congressman, and the General he ignored. The General he hated- she read his letters before he sent them, snuck down to his office and held them up to the candlelight. She’d been doing it more frequently, ever since the major had arrived and left, ever since she saw the way he and her father had looked at each other, shock, surprise, and then contempt. Respect had to be earned, but neither of them would ever think of giving it away in the first place.

They couldn’t beg for money with a young lady present.

They didn’t care she was there- she was something to look at, something to behold. But she didn’t care either- she was out of the house, she wasn’t alone, trapped in the dining room, only being able to talk to the servants, waiting to see if Joseph got home safely. She was grabbing this opportunity and holding onto it- if she did well, if her father was pleased, her situation could change at the drop of a hat. Would he let her make her debut? Would he let her shine in a city, in the parlors and ballrooms? Would he let her move with him to York- where she would be with the other wives and daughters and sisters, where she could talk to women, women who weren’t servants, women who didn’t listen because they had to. 

The men in front of her craved food, she craved company. 

She was bloodthirsty for it.

She couldn’t complain.

She let the General lead her forward. 

His “beloved sons”- her father had whispered in her ear as they entered, annoyed and jeering- hadn’t moved. They all wore variations of the same uniform, mirroring Washington, the same golden epaulets, the green ribbon sashed across their waistcoats. They were like toy soldiers set up on a little boy’s floor, stick straight, prim and proper, poised. Had they practiced? Had they picked their spot themselves, or did they leave that to their doting, dutiful father? 

Washington began the introductions calmly. “This is Captain Tench Tilghman, my longest serving aide.”

The young man smiled at her- he was young, but he looked slightly older than the other aides, leading the line. He kissed her hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Walker.” 

“Tilghman is a graduate of your alma mater, Congressman, “ Washington said.

“Oh?” Her father perked up, “A Philadelphia boy?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you met my brother?” She regretted asking it- Joseph may’ve been expelled by then. Her father’s jaw clenched as he held back his shame. 

“I can’t say I have, Miss Walker. I graduated some time ago.” 

Washington didn’t notice the awkwardness, moving on. He introduced each man with an anecdote, a fact for them to elaborate on. “Meade is our fastest rider, and Laurens’ father is a colleague of yours, Congressman Walker.” 

“Yes,” her father replied formally, “I congratulated him on his recent promotion.”

Laurens nodded, “I am sure you did, sir. He is quite proud of what we are accomplishing here.” 

One of her father’s letters entered the back of her mind, the words a tangled web-  _ accomplished what? General Washington has lost the ability to win battles and replaced it with dim witted plans, elaborate schemes that result in losing them. Our army’s debilitating defeat at Germantown only proves this. _

“Speaking of accomplished,” Washington held out his hand, “may I introduce my chief aide de camp and head secretary, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.”

Hamilton was about the same height as she was, yet he stood with an air of confidence bordering on aloofness to make up for what he lacked in stature. His chain raised, showcasing his strong jaw. He had a shock of red hair and a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. “His Excellency is too kind. I only excel at writing letters, Miss Walker.”

“Then they must be very convincing, sir.”

She was more focused on the man standing at Hamilton’s right.

Two things made him stand out amongst the young men. His uniform was completely different, his coat a deep, rich navy blue, the facings trimmed with a bright, brilliantly clean white. His waistcoat was the same, gold trim running across the buttonline and the pockets. He was drenched in the color- gold epaulets on his shoulders, a pair of stars on each, gold buttons on his coat and waistcoat. His cuffs were miniature versions of the coat facings, closed together with the same golden buttons, a hint of puffed sleeves sticking out. He didn’t wear a sash- but he did wear a white, powered wig, the sides rolled and framing his long face.

He was more well dressed than she was.

Back over the summer, her father spent an entire dinner talking about the newest elite recruit to Washington’s army who presented himself to congress, a young French nobleman who barely spoke English. “You should have seen it, Elizabeth! What a pompous display! We had to give him the rank of Major General to shut him up! But of course Washington took to him immediately, as is the case with him and beardless boys.”

It wasn’t pompous- it was dazzling, intriguing. What was his name? The young General? She couldn’t remember right away, had it hanging on the edge of her tongue just as she looked up to see Washington beaming with pride- he was showing off the favorite, the one who he cherished the most. The prized pony.

“Miss Walker, allow me to introduce-”

“The Marquis de Lafayette!”

The other soldiers jumped as she yelled, but Lafayette nodded, his laugh like music, jovial and good natured, youthful. He stepped slightly forward, falling out of line- but no one said anything, no one cared. She felt her excitement surge as he took her hand in his gloved one, held it up to his lips and kissed it- the other gentleman had, but they only did it out of formality. It was taught them when they had become officers, had to cater to the higher ranking men and their wives. He did it as if it were second nature- he must have done it hundreds of thousands of times. _At Versailles!_

“Good evening, Mademoiselle Walker,” he said, and his voice was deeper than she expected, strong enough to carry the weight of English, overcoming his thick accent, able to prevent anything coming out awkwardly pronounced and jumbled. He must have practiced his letters well. “You look more radiant than any of the women in the noble court.”

“You flatter me, Marquis.” She said, bowing her head- did she curtsy to him? She shoved the thought away, too late. Her father would be sure to scold her later, as if he had any clue beforehand, as if he had bothered to tell her. “I’m afraid my gown is slightly out of fashion. It is quite hard to get fabric in Philadelphia.”

“When we win it back, you’ll be able to buy the finest robes a la françaises the city has to offer.”

Her father appeared, dove into the conversation like a hawk into a field, “And when do you plan on taking back our capital, Marquis?” He turned to Elizabeth’s right. “General Washington?”

The tension tightened- Washington sent the Marquis a warning shot, a glance she wasn’t meant to see. He stepped back to his original spot. Washington’s face was expressionless. “I suggest we hold the politics until we sit down for dinner, gentlemen. It is not something to discuss on empty stomachs.”

Another voice entered the foyer, a voice she had forgotten was there, a voice she had been trying to forget. A voice that had haunted her since the dreadfully cold night, the night of the first snowfall, the first sign of winter approaching, a warning. The first sign of winter waiting to conquer.

“I’ll be sure to send you a letter when we do, Congressman Walker. I know how keen you are on reading them, sir.”

His words were explosive, uncalled for, inappropriate. She bit her tongue, suppressing a gasp. How could he fire a shot as if it were nothing, a grazing instead of a wound, a hole in the chest? Her father’s face contorted into a barely contained rage- Washington’s paled, whiter than the snow or the Marquis’ wig. 

“Major Tallmadge?”

It was all she found herself able to say, able to pull out of her thoughts, spit out of her mouth.

He was glowing in the candlelight of the foyer, his shadow behind him, isolated from the other aides, isolated from Washington himself- he was alone, and he was all she saw. She saw him with blood caked on his face, staining his shirt, dripping from his sword. She saw him on his knees, his head lowered in prayer, his boots discarded beside the fireplace. She saw him in the servant’s quarters, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his hair undone, his elbows exposed from the too big shirt sleeves. 

And she saw him now, staring straight at her, wearing a clean shirt and cravat, polished boots and a freshly shaven face. He was somehow more electrifying than the first time she had seen him, caught between adrenaline and fear, desperation and death. The death had clung to him the morning, the encounter in the kitchen- the death had defeated him. Now he was determined and daring, pouncing like a hound, unleashed, ready to run. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Walker.”

The extinguished fire fizzled out into a smile, the beautiful, soft, boyish smile. The same smile he gave her the morning before he left, standing in her kitchen, basking in the early, dreary morning sunlight. He bowed his head, just as he did before, following protocol, even if his words did not, even if he just bared his teeth, aimed for her father’s jugular. 

Although, he didn’t kiss her hand that morning. 

She never gave him the chance.

“I appreciated your letter,” she said. The mood dramatically shifted again, the other officers squirmed. What letter? 

_The letter_ , she thought, _the letter where he thanked me, the letter where he called me an angel, the letter where he said I was there for him in his hour of need._

Where he wrote to her, with his neat handwriting and his simple words,  emotions hiding under the surface. 

“Your ending rang true, Major,” she looked around, “we are meeting once again— and in different, lighter circumstances.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I suppose we are.”

Although it didn’t feel that way.

It didn’t feel that way when she caught her father’s glare. It didn’t feel that way when the rest of the aides were watching her and Benjamin. It didn’t feel that way when she remembered why she was here, what she came to prevent, and how she didn’t even notice it starting, didn’t figure out it was too late. 

Someone had to be the one to ignite the spark.

Why did it have to be him?

Washington cleared his throat from behind them. The aides' heads turned instinctively, Benjamin pulling himself away from her. Puzzle briefly flashed over his face- was it too late for him to step back in line? Would he even be welcomed into it? 

He rejoined it anyway- she watched as he tilted his head, listened as Hamilton whispered something in his ear. 

And then, Washington faced her, wearing his false smile again. “Dinner will be served soon, gentlemen. Miss Walker, may I escort you to your seat?”

“Of course, Your Excellency.”

It was time to play round two of the game.

-

If she thought the foyer was small, the tavern’s dining room was even smaller.

A long, narrow table was in the center alone- all the other tables had been cleared out, tucked away in a closet or upstairs. It took up all of the space, the little breathing room they had left. She felt it evaporate as Washington led her through the doorway, walking in front of her, multitasking as he lowered his head to get through and whispered to her father- they’d already forgotten she was there.

“Allow me to apologize for Major Tallmadge’s behavior, sir.” Washington managed to keep his voice steady and diplomatic, but she detected a hint of the desperateness that hung at the end of each sentence he spoke. It hurt him- he was known for his pride, wasn’t he? Where had she heard that? Was it another lie her father wanted her to believe? 

“The death of one of his soldiers has been hard on him, as you can imagine. It was you who treated him. I’m sure you remember.”

“Of course,” her father agreed nonchalantly- no regret, no remorse. Though she remembered the haunted look on his face as he washed Brooks’ blood off his hands, as he helped Samson and Joseph carry the body out into the night. His sympathy was already gone. “Besides, General, I am sure he will get his discipline. Congress knows how you punish your soldiers.”

Washington didn’t have the chance for a rebuttal.

They were standing in the dining room.

He continued to lead her, over towards the fireplace, weakly lit. 

She wasn’t able to feel its heat as she stood beside him, watching the aides sit first, watching for any signs of a hierarchy, to see if where they stood in line was clear enough of who were the favorites, who he trusted versus who he tolerated, who he used for his talent rather than his good conversation, his personality. 

Hamilton and Lafayette were the first to go. They took their places directly beside the seat at the head of the table- Washington’s seat, one at his left, the other at his right. Tilghman was next to Lafayette, Laurens next to Hamilton. McHenry, the other doctor in the room, was seated next to her father, a product of Washington’s plan, definitely. Meade went over to Laurens. Harrison and Fiztgerald went together. And then-

Then it was Benjamin’s turn.

It was a long walk from the doorway to the end of the table.

The chair next to him was the only one left.

“Major,” she sat next to him, glanced at her father across the table- did he know the seating chart prior to this? Was he angry? 

Did he want her next to  _ him _ ?

Her father didn’t notice, already deep into a conversation with McHenry about canon wounds.

“I apologize for you having to sit next to me,” Benjamin cringed, “I am sure you wanted to be near the Marquis.”

“Only to practice my French,” she said.

He smiled slightly. He seemed to have calmed down- did he hear what Washington whispered to her father? And what did it mean- what were they going to do to him? How could he eat knowing he had scoldings, lashes, waiting for him back at camp? How could he function? 

Or was that what he wanted? To make a statement, an even bigger spectacle out of tonight’s performance?

“Gentlemen,” Washington spoke up, his voice booming at the head of the table as he held up his glass of wine, “dinner is served.”

The tavern maid came in through the back door, carrying a metal platter. Elizabeth looked around, glanced at the soldiers. They all had a look in their eye, their lips a thin straight line as they watched the maid come closer- were they sitting on the edge of their seats? Benjamin tensed next to her, leaned forward, his body touching the wood. 

It was a look of  _ hunger _ . She had seen it before- it reminded her of when her father used to hunt, when he used to bring the hounds inside, have them lay underneath the table, waiting for a bite, a morsel. He would hold up a piece of meat, a sliver or scrap, and the dogs froze, their heads raised, drool slipping out of tightly closed mouths, an occasional lick of the lips. 

They were frozen, until her father dropped it directly in front of them. Then they were wild, then they devoured it.

The soldiers didn’t have the ability to do that, but they wore the look of hunger all the same.

They were struggling to hide things well.

How could they do it for the rest of dinner?

A chicken sat on the platter, adorned with greens and garnishes, followed by plates of potatoes and carrots, brussel sprouts, a basket of bread. It was a small display, but Washington and his soldiers grinned, thanking the maid before she left .  _ Not everyone can have the same luxuries as you, Elizabeth. And you hardly touch any of it.  _

Her mind conjured up the image of Benjamin in the servant’s kitchen, stuffing bread in his mouth, ripping it apart faster than he could chew.

_ They’ll take whatever they can get. _

_ And my father knows it. _

Except he didn’t plan on giving them anything.

“Are the winters hard in Philadelphia, Miss Walker?”

Lafayette asked her from the front, arching a brow as he cut into his meat- he was the calmest person here, all of the tension brushing off of him, ricocheting like an arrow hitting a faulty target. He was the sacrifice, the first one sent in to offer himself up to the outsiders, yet he didn’t show any fear, any reluctance.

“You see,” he continued, pausing to take a bite- unlike the rest of the men, Lafayette wore his napkin on his lap. The other men wore them tucked into their cravats, like a cumbersome bib. “I am from the south of France, where snow is a rare occurrence. It is my first winter in the states, Miss Walker.”

Winter was easy- if you knew how to survive it, how to plan for it. What crops to plant, when to harvest, how to store them. She had spent the past several months helping the servants stock the pantry, sheer the ship, spin the wool, figure out how many livestock they needed to kill. She kept track of the inventory- the medicine in her father’s cabinets, the stacks of firewood, the sacks of flour, the amount of grain in the mill.

“It’s only difficult if you are weary of the cold, Marquis.”

His grin faltered, “It- it gets colder?”

“Yes,” her father interjected, “January and February are the coldest months on record, usually. December is mild.”

“Do not listen to him,” she took back control of the conversation when Lafayette’s face betrayed him, the glamour falling away- as if he couldn’t take anymore of it, as if just the sheer thought of winter terrified him. 

And he was right to think it.

“It all depends on a matter of circumstance, Marquis. Mother Nature ultimately decides when the wind will blow or if the storm will pass over. Some years are colder than others.”

His original grin returned, “Thank you for calming my frivolous nerves, Miss Walker.” He sighed of relief- it was meant to come across as jokingly, but the fear lingered.

Did her father want to hurt him on purpose? Why did he want to worry them? As if they did not have enough on their shoulders, the burden of the general’s orders, the organization and structure of the entire army? Was he really so cruel? 

_ No- he is trying to break them. _

Trying to make sure they knew who actually had power, who held it in his hands. Trying to intimidate and wear them down, destroy their defenses. Leave them with nothing- even if they were already in that state. They would not ask for money if they didn’t have the confidence to. If he took it from them. 

She wanted to give it back to them.

She wanted tonight to be fun, lighthearted. She wanted good company and cheer. Along with the start of winter, it was the holiday season. And who knew what would happen- though she already had an inkling of what would, had a scenario playing out in her mind. Her father would run back to York as soon as possible to gossip and lecture the other congressmen about tonight, about the state of Washington and his aides, how he made the famously obnoxious Marquis de Lafayette pale at the thought of living in the cold. Her brother would be in Philadelphia, of course, waking up in a place he shouldn’t be. And she would be at the decorated dining room table, convincing the servants to sit with her. To please, sit with her, with a promise she wouldn’t tell her father, with their Christmas gifts at the seats- she had checked the numbers this year for bonuses, she had sent Mary into town to collect the checks. Her father didn’t even think of it. Of them.

Of her.

Hamilton looked down across from Lafayette, “I am curious about the cold, Miss Walker. I want to see how Pennsylvania winters compare to the winters in New York—where I am from— and New Jersey, where we camped last year.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “Morristown, if I remember correctly. You visited the camp didn’t you, father?”

Her father briefly glanced up from his conversation with McHenry, “Your memory serves you well, Elizabeth. It was a very organized camp, General Washington. I have no doubt your camp here will exceed expectations.”

“Thank you, sir,” Washington cut into another piece of meat.

Colonel Laurens spoke up, playfully nudging Hamilton’s shoulder, “Colonel Hamilton is not feigning his curiosity, Miss Walker, but he is feigning his fearlessness. When the cold truly sets in, he will be the first to complain.”

“Oh please, Laurens. You’ll be shivering too, Southern boy. Winter doesn’t exist in Charleston.”

“If you haven’t figured already, Miss Walker,” Washington regarded  _ her _ , but not her father, who he was meant to impress tonight, “you are among several gentlemen from the southern colonies tonight. Myself included.”

“I have never had the chance to travel to Virginia, sir, but I am certain it is a beautiful place.”

_ You never had the chance to travel anywhere,  _ she told herself.  _ Why don’t you blame your father for that? _

She was trying to have a good night.

“How are the winters where you live, Major Tallmadge?”

He was so quiet, it was almost easy to forget he was sitting directly next to her, eating his dinner. But she couldn’t forget him, couldn’t let go of his presence, the thought of him, his smile in the kitchen, his words on the page.

Was he thinking about it, too?

Benjamin set down his silverware, stole a sip from his glass, eyes darting across the table. He answered, “The winters are hard everywhere, in some form of another. I am from Setauket, Miss Walker- on Long Island.”

“I pray you forgive me for never having heard of it, Major.”

He chuckled, “It is quite small. I also lived in New Haven for a time, when I was a student at Yale College. They are hit hard by snow in New Haven. We’d have to trudge through in the morning to get to class. Soiled many pairs of shoes doing just that.”

“Then I’m sure the Pennsylvania winters will be no match for you, Major Tallmadge.”

“The winter will be a trial for all of us, Miss Walker. I fear you underestimate it.”

“I never underestimate, Major. I calculate everything and anything.”

“A good quality to have, Miss Walker.”

“Yes. If only I could be a soldier.”

If only she could leave- leave, and never look back.

That was what the soldiers did, wasn’t it?

“General Washington,” her father interrupted their conversation, “all of this talk of cold weather has reminded me that I did not previously ask you where you plan on settling for the winter. Did you previously mention it?”

The aides looked at their leader. 

Washington answered, “Tomorrow, we march into Valley Forge.”

_ Valley Forge. _

She watched as her father realized it, as Washington let the words hang in the air, as he waited for a reaction. She suppressed her own- she wanted to gasp, she wanted to jump out of her chair- or was she going to fall out of it? It was hard to tell.

Congressman Walker looked at his daughter.

Elizabeth looked at her father.

“You’re setting up an encampment in my home, General?” He was surprised, but she caught a hint of aggressiveness in his tone, the way he almost cut himself off from saying anything else. She searched his face for an expression to match his voice- it appeared as if he were insulted. As if Washington said he was staying in their garden, setting up himself and his boys in the guestrooms and using his father’s study as his own.

_ And what if he did? _

What if that was why he invited them tonight- what if he was desperate, what if he had found nowhere else to go? What if he needed somewhere to stay, somewhere to  _ rest _ ? Would her father have the decency to give him that, if he could not give him anything else? 

Her house had already been touched by war. 

Why not add another bloodstain?

Washington nodded, and brought her back into the conversation, out of her dream- her dream of a house full of people, a house full of personality and life, a house that belonged to someone other than herself- “We will be close, sir, but not as close as you think. I believe the engineers have set us up a bit further down the road.”

Lafayette interjected, “The camp is in very good hands, Congressman. It was designed by the best engineers my country has to offer. It will be a well built machine. Structured and sound.”

She was still processing the fact it was going to exist in the first place.

But, she  _ remembered. _

“Is there anything left?”

The British had destroyed the valley, made it another casualty, another victim of their brutality. They destroyed what made the valley what it was. They set fire to the farmers’ fields, after they took what they could, what they needed to feed their hungry, violent soldiers. They destroyed the iron forges. There were no mills, no fields, no forges. What could they harvest? What could they make?

The valley had nothing.

Neither did the army about to live inside it.

She had triggered an awkward silence around the entire dinner table. Her father looked away, and the aides looked down at their plates. 

Finally, Washington spoke.

“I hope that my soldiers and I can bring some much needed life back into the valley, Miss Walker.” His voice changed- was it shaking? Was Washington the type to falter? 

He paused for a moment, before he added.

“And, hopefully, conditions will improve with help from Congress. What do you think, Congressman Walker?’

It was finally time for them to find out what she knew all along.

She didn’t want to watch- she wanted to look away, she wanted to close her eyes and focus on the positives. But there were no positives. No amount of light conversation and wine could outweigh what was about to happen.

She had no choice but to look at her father.

“General Washington,” was how his address began.

“I have no other choice but to tell you now, though I would prefer that I could have done so in a letter, or in private. But it is the reason you invited me to this dinner, is it not?”

“I did not invite you because I enjoy your company,” Washington replied coolly.

“And perhaps the feeling is mutual, sir.”

_ Please, father,  _ she thought.  _ Just get it over with. Let Washington gracefully handle another defeat. _

_ “ _ Congress is low on funds, General. As you are well aware. And Congress does not, at this time, see it fit to give even more funds to or approve the budget of the army at this time. Your proposal is not within our means.” 

They knew.

They knew, and they didn’t say anything. They didn’t move. Washington and his soldiers froze. As if they were waiting for the next attack, the next charge.

The general took a shot.

“And what, if you do not mind my asking, is in your means, Congressman?” Washington’s voice was laced with frustration, his teeth gritted.

Her father was eerily steady- he had anticipated this reaction. “You must understand where we are coming from, sir. Why would my colleagues and I want to invest more money into a- and forgive my phrasing, sir- a failing business?”

Because it was the right thing to do.

Because it was how they were going to win.

“A business, Congressman?” Washington echoed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that what you think of this? You think of war as a business? A business for you to invest in? A business to throw money at? To make profits, to gain wealth?”

“In some form or another-”

Her father was cut off by Washington’s fist hitting the table.

“War is not a business, sir! When my men go out into battle, they do not think about the money they will gain, or the money they will lose. They do not think about the price of powder- they think about how much powder they will need to survive, to try and win the battle. The battles we fight for you, Congressman! The battles we fought to try and protect Philadelphia- to try and protect your banks and your officers, your estates and your families. To try and protect the independence  _ you  _ declared!”

“We simply do not have enough money-”

Washington scoffed, “As if you could not find a way to procure it. You and I both know Congress is full of men with coins in their pockets.”

“Speak for yourself, sir! Are you not one of the wealthiest landowners in Virginia-”

“I am working without pay, Congressman! My fields are empty, because I am here! I am fulfilling the duty asked of me, and yet you cannot give my soldiers what they deserve-”

“Then why don’t you try yourself?!” Her father raised his voice. Washington didn’t need to raise his. “Appoint a quartermaster who is not corrupt, look at your chain of command, sir, and you will see how you ended up here!”

“Would you like that, Congressman?” Washington hissed. “Would you like to reexamine the chain of command? The command of this entire army?”

“And what do you mean by that, sir?”

The aides seemed to know- perking up in their seats, suddenly alert, ready to speak, to jump into the fray. 

_ And what are you going to do? Are you going to sit back and watch? Do you have any other choice? _

Options, she never had options-

“Miss Walker!” 

Benjamin shouted into her ear.

His glass of wine was sitting on her skirt, the liquid cascading down her dress, seeping into the green fabric. She involuntarily jumped out of her chair, sent it flying across the floor. The glass fell, pieces scattering across the floor. “Oh, my god!”

Her scream broke the argument.

Washington turned to face her, his face red. The aides searched her, looking at her mortified face, the massive stain blotting the fabric. And her father- her father was  _ glaring  _ at her.

“Oh, mon dieu.” Lafayette whispered.

He took a sip of the wine she was now wearing.

Dinner was over.

Dinner was over, and she’d never be invited to one ever again.

_ Elizabeth, don’t cry. _

_ Don’t cry until you get home. _

She’d never leave home again.

“Miss Walker,” Benjamin bolted up from his chair, holding out his napkin. “I am terribly sorry.” His eyes darted to the door. “Here, let’s get you somewhere to try and fix this. We’ll find the tavern maid-”

She tried to  _ smile. _ She needed to show everything was fine with a  _ smile. _ “Oh, please, Major-”

But Benjamin was already leading her away, leading her away from the scene and the chaos, from the table, from Washington and the aides and her father.

He was already leading her down the narrow hallway, into the first open room.

He was already shutting the door, making sure it was locked. “I’m sorry, I needed a distraction.”

“A distraction?” She asked. “A distraction for what?”

“So I could tell you what I’ve been meaning to say all night.” 

What else did he mean to say? Had he not said enough in the letter? Had he not said enough to her father? 

Why did they need to be alone for it?

“Major Tallmadge-”

“I’m going to get the army the supplies we need, Miss Walker. And you’re going to help me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a lot, wasn't it? I hope I got Washington's character down- he is a very complex and complicated man. Some fun history facts: this dinner actually happened! On Dec 18, Washington and the army stopped to celebrate "thanksgiving" and the victory at Saratoga, by order of Congress. I found this out after I started writing the scene. Alos, Hamilton arrived at Valley Forge in January, and McHenry in March, but I included them early on because these two are very big players in this story. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! More coming soon.


	3. Drive the Cold Winter Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth decides to change her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and thanks for reading SS&SP! I must confess that I am nervous about this chapter. I don't know if it is able to live up to the last one. It focuses more on Elizabeth and her life than anyone else. It also introduces one of my favorite characters in this story, Elizabeth's young maidservant, Mary Kauffman. Mary will save us all, I think.

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

She had decided that before she said yes, decided that before Benjamin even let another sentence leave his mouth. She knew she was going to say yes before he even finished speaking, before he needed to explain himself, needed to prove himself to her. _He already has,_ she thought, _he already has and he doesn’t even realize it._ He proved himself to her the night they met, when she watched his face slowly crumble at the sight of Brooks’ body, laying on the table, his limp hand abandoned. She had forced herself to let go while the body was still warm. He proved himself to her when she saw him the next morning, in borrowed clothes and eating stale bread. He didn’t know how long she had been watching, how she watched as he ate as if he were starving. And he proved himself tonight, when she realized he _was._ The look on the soldiers’ faces, haunting her, staying with her. All because of a simple meal.

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

She needed to change her life as much as the army needed help. A perfect combination, at the right place at the right time. And she didn’t want change handed to her. She wanted to earn it for herself. There was no time left to wait for sudden events, sudden tragedies and forks in the road. It was too late to wait for her father’s opinion- god, how naive she was to depend on him for change. Why would he give her it now? All because she smiled and spoke sweetly at a dinner? All because she saw what the war actually was, how bad it had truly become? It didn’t matter to him if Washington snapped at him, if he sent his hounds after him. He still had the upper hand. Nothing in his life changed. He could control change. 

_You could, too._

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

“I’ll do it,” she had said, with no hesitation, with no second thoughts. Change didn’t hesitate, and why should she? “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Major Tallmadge.” He could send her into the cold, out into the wilderness. He could send her out onto the battlefield, the no man’s land. With the canonfire, with the bullets flying through the air, with the smoke in her eyes. Whatever he thought was right- whatever would help them _survive._

The army needed to survive, and she needed to change.

Benjamin seemed surprised, but he didn’t question it- though she was ready to defend herself and her decision. _Don’t back down. Don’t hand over control._ “Anything? Even if it’s not morally sound, even if it could ruin your life?”

“Yes.”

How could it be more ruined than it already had been, than it already was?

“I want to send you into Philadelphia, Miss Walker. I want to send you into Philadelphia, and I want you to steal from the British. Right underneath their turned up noses. I want you to become a part of them.”

_Philadelphia._

She let herself hesitate.

He was going to send out into the city, into the city she had been so close to, all her life. The city she was desperate to be a part of, the city she had dreamed of. The lines of houses and cobblestone streets, the groups of people- the _crowd._ You could never be lonely in a crowd.

She needed to get rid of loneliness once and for all.

Her loneliness needed to die in this bloody war.

And she was going to be the one to kill it.

“Anything you say to me will only strengthen my choice, Major,” she said.

Benjamin hesitated.

Why did he still not believe her? 

Why was he so shocked?

_He doesn’t know the life you live. And he can’t begin to understand it._

_And if you tell him now, he won’t let you do this._

_Who in their right mind would let a sheltered girl like you become a thief, a spy?_

“Miss Walker, do you understand what I am asking you to do?” he asked. He stepped closer, holding up a hand, as if he were surrendering, or keeping her at bay, like a dog about to bite. “It’s an incredibly delicate matter.”

“Then explain it to me,” she responded. “I already said “yes.”

And she was never going to take it back.

“By becoming a part of them, I mean that you would infiltrate their society, Miss Walker. You would become a British woman- a young lady. You would attend their balls, their dinners. You would be inside their homes. You would interact with them, talk to them.”

_That’s the thing you want most, isn’t it?_

She couldn’t betray her excitement, her giddiness at just thinking about it- the gowns, the hair, the jewels. The dancing and the drinks and the music. 

No wonder Joseph loved it so much.

“I am capable of handling myself in social situations, Major.”

Although she couldn’t prove it.

Benjamin sighed, opening his mouth, but the words didn’t come. His eyes darted to the closed door- he had made sure it was locked as soon as they entered the room. He needed to make sure the others couldn’t hear them, as if he were ashamed at just asking her the question, proposing his plan. 

Finally, he spoke in a whisper.

“You would be seducing the British men- the officers- for money, Miss Walker.”

Now, she couldn’t control her hesitation, her silence.

_Elizabeth, don’t._

_Elizabeth, you can’t._

_You can excuse the lying, you can excuse the scheming and the stealing._

_There is no way you can excuse_ this.

_You cannot excuse throwing yourself at men, you cannot excuse exposing yourself- your body- to them._

_You can’t be so desperate for change, Elizabeth, that you ruin_ yourself.

Her life had already been ruined.

How could that mean she wasn’t?

“I’ll do it, Major Tallmadge.”

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

Whatever it took.

Whatever she needed to give.

Whatever she needed to take.

Benjamin didn’t say anything.

She forced herself to inhale a deep breath, to stand up straighter. 

To prove herself to him.

“Thank you,” Benjamin said.

He moved on to the next part, and she was thankful for it. She could still sense his surprise, his shock, his shame. She had buried hers- if she didn’t she would hesitate.

She would take back her answer.

“Alright,” he began, and she could see he was already thinking, he was already planning. 

He was thinking the same way she always did.

“I’m going to need you to come to camp as soon as possible. That’s where we’ll meet.”

“The camp?” Why couldn’t he come to her?

“It’s where all of my supplies are, Miss Walker. And I can’t leave my men for long.”

“Washington needs you in camp as well, I suppose,” she remarked.

Did he cringe? “Yes… he needs me, too.”

“Then when do you want me to come? Tomorrow.”

Benjamin shook his head. “Oh, no. The camp hasn’t even been built yet. We only march into the valley tomorrow. But we need you into the city as soon as possible.” He looked up at her, “Can you come two days from now?”

“I will be at your beckon call, Major.”

She had nowhere else to be.

“Then two days from now, ride to camp. As soon as you can.”

“I’ll be there first thing in the morning,” she said.

“Good,” Benjamin was pleased. “It’s settled, then?”

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

“I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

-

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

And it started this morning.

It was the first thought that crossed her mind as she slowly woke, as her eyes adjusted to the empty room, to the closed curtains. Sunlight peeked through- the familiar, bright and harsh winter sunlight. The sunlight that brought only brightness, and no warmth. And what good was light when there was no warmth to go with it? What was the point of it? Sunlight was useless compared to fire- fire brought both. 

The fire had died down recently, its smell still lingered in the air. Mary always set it before she fell asleep, as they began their nightly routine. She undid Elizabeth’s hair in the fire and candlelight, silently working while Elizabeth watched the way her hands found all the pins and restored the tangled curls with a brush. Night time was as quiet as any other hour- a few brief remarks, small talk as they unlaced her stays, put away her gown. The silence never became easier to bear- even as the day died down, even as Mary said goodnight, a signal of the day ending, and a new one beginning.

How could she tolerate silence when it was all she was used to?

The room was slightly cold, but not as cold as the outside must have been. She imagined that there’d be frost on the windows, a new dusting of snow covering the garden and the front lawn, barely visible on the road. Winter was taking its time settling in, but it would come nonetheless. The season would change.

And so would her life.

It had to.

“Miss Lizzie?”

Mary’s small, timid voice came through the closed canopy, suddenly appearing. Elizabeth wondered how long she had been standing there, waiting for the slightest movement, the slightest stir. It was always as if she knew Elizabeth was awake before Elizabeth knew herself, waiting for her day- and for the work- to begin. She must have been awake for hours.

“Are you awake, Miss Lizzie? You told me to wake you earlier than usual today.”

She told Benjamin she’d be there first thing in the morning.

Finally, she didn’t have time to waste. She didn’t have a day to waste by spending in the house, by checking to see that everything was in order. Everything was constantly in order. The shelves were barely touched, the pocketbook kept locked away in her father’s study, only seen by her eyes. The inventory was as stagnant as the daily routine it was used in.

Time would be precious once again, just as she always wanted it to be.

It started this morning.

“Good morning, Mary,” Elizabeth said.

The canopy flew open on the right side- it was still open on the left- and she was greeted by Mary’s round, youthful face, and her usual warm, casual smile. She was dressed in one of her gowns- a hand me down, from when Elizabeth had been younger and shorter - and a simple cap hiding her dirty blonde hair. Mary had been her maidservant since she was thirteen. She was sixteen, now, but looked the same as she did when she took over for her mother.

She bowed her head, “Good morning, Miss Lizzie.” Her voice was the first sound Elizabeth heard each morning, the English spoken with a slightly Germanic lilt. “Are you ready for me to do your hair?”

Elizabeth rose out of bed, and Mary followed behind her- always close, but never as close as Elizabeth wanted her to be. 

She wished she had someone to walk beside her.

“I’m not sure how I want it done today, Mary.” She took her place at the vanity, glanced at her reflection, the blonde curls framing her upper half like the hood of a cloak. How could she phrase the question clearly? _Oh, Mary, what do you think is practical for visiting a military camp? Is a high roll appropriate? Or would a simple updo be suitable? Or should I mimic a soldier’s queue?_

Mary already reached for the comb, “What do you mean?”

Now that she thought about it, she realized she had no idea what she was to _wear_ , either. She didn’t have many traveling clothes, because she didn’t go anywhere. It was useless to spend her father’s money on coats and cloaks and hoods, on boots and habits and gloves. 

Maybe the inventory needed to change, after all.

Elizabeth turned in her chair, looking up at Mary’s face. She moved the comb away from her head, out of Mary’s hand. “Mary, if I tell you where I’m going, can you promise me you won’t tell anyone? Especially the other servants. I don’t want word getting back to my father.”

Her father had left for York the morning after the dinner, at exactly noon. “I won’t be back for Christmas, Elizabeth, or the week after next. I’ll let you know when I’m returning.” He kissed the top of her forehead, and she heard him mutter something as he got into the carriage, as he closed the door. “Hopefully not for a long while.”

But if he found out, if he had even an inkling, even an idea, the entire operation would crumble before it even began. He wouldn’t believe she agreed to do it herself, that she discovered her own free will and used it to her advantage. He would blame it on Washington, on Benjamin, on the helpless soldiers. He’d say they corrupted her, he’d say they deceived her.

He’d lock her away for good.

But she needed someone to know, someone to talk to- about whatever she was about to experience, about whatever was on the road ahead. She couldn’t carry the burden of keeping things to herself anymore, not when she was about to have the weight of an army on her shoulders.

And Mary was there when it began- she had seen Brooks’ die, she had led Benjamin to his room, she had brought him clean clothes. She did what was asked of her.

She helped wherever she could.

“Of course, Miss Lizzie.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. The weight was slightly lighter.

“You’re going into Philadelphia, aren’t you?” 

_Soon, but not yet._

She shook her head. “No. I’m just going down the road.”

Mary’s brows furrowed, “Down the road to where?”

“I’m going into the encampment,” she answered.

Valley Forge was waiting for her.

Benjamin was waiting for her.

“ _Miss Lizzie_ ,” Mary’s words came out in a shocked whisper.

“I’m going to help the soldiers get the supplies they need, Mary.” It didn’t feel real when she said it. It was a fantasy, a dream. Nothing was concrete, nothing was solid. Nothing had happened. And what if it didn’t? What if she failed instantly? What if this was a problem she couldn’t solve? “They have no one else to turn to.”

_They only have me._

What a terrifying thought that was.

“It’s because of the major, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.”

“Do you trust him to keep you safe, Miss Lizzie?” Mary looked as terrified as Elizabeth felt. “My mother says that wherever the soldiers go, trouble is soon to follow. They don’t treat women kindly in camp. They might hurt you.”

_If only she knew about what you’ll have to do in Philadelphia._

“I trust him as much as he trusts me.”

Was that enough?

Was it an equal amount?

Mary nodded. “I’ll help you get ready, Miss Lizzie. But not in this room. You- you don’t have what we need.”

-

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

And for that to change, the valley needed to change with her.

Before the rebellion and the revolution born from it, the valley was calm. It was an escape from the hustle and bustle of the city of Philadelphia, just twenty miles away. It was home to farmers and ironworkers, blacksmiths, wanting to raise their families in the countryside, wanting to make a living selling to people on their way to and from the capital. As a child, she remembered looking at the fields passing by through the carriage window, the homes and the smoke rising from the chimneys, the sound of cattle and the smell of hot metal from the blacksmiths’ workshops. She remembered their own land, sitting on her father’s horse as he inspected it, watched the servants work it. He never picked up a rake.

“I’m a professional man, Lizzie,” he had told her. “I’m a healing man who just happens to have land and good fortune, both which I was born into. Both which you will benefit from when the time comes, Lizzie.”

When the time came, her good fortune was hanging onto a thread. 

Her father still had his land and his good fortune, but she only had herself. 

And the valley had nothing.

Her father wasn’t home when the British came. 

Congress had run to York by then, and Brandywine had been lost, terribly lost. The British were handed Philadelphia, but it wasn’t enough for them. Instead, Howe decided to fan his flames, to show what he could do, what damage he could inflict. What had happened at Brandywine and Germantown wasn’t enough. Nothing ever would be. 

He let the valley burn.

He burned the shops, he burned the sawmill, the waterwheels, the cooperage. He burned houses, he burned homes. He destroyed the village and the valley’s way of life. All because he could. 

All because the power had been given to him.

It felt like she was losing her life, too.

She had begged her father to leave York, to come home and do something. To throw _his_ power in Howe’s face, his money and his status, the good fortune and land given to him. She begged him to raise the servants’ already meager wages. The head housekeeper’s husband had worked in the forges. Everyone in the village, everyone in her home was connected to what was lost.

Elizabeth only had memories.

Her father only sent back a single reply.

_Do what you must, Elizabeth. As you always do._

_Of course, Father_ was what she wrote in return.

She was doing what she had to do.

The sun was hidden from her once again as she rode past the trees, down the road, her house no longer in the distance- Mary had watched as she left, standing at the side door, waving goodbye. Elizabeth had a feeling she would be in the same spot whenever she returned- how long would she be at camp? All day, well into the evening? Or would it be a quick meeting, a glance at the plans, a conversation to show she understood, and then she’d be gone, sent on her way? To do everything alone, just as she always had, just as she was excepted to.

She couldn’t imagine Benjamin doing that to her.

She knew she was closer to civilization when she passed a single house, seemingly empty, the shutters closed and the door shut. Where were the generals staying? Were they staying with their men, in their tents, huddled together for warmth? When her father had visited Morristown, the higher officers were spread across the town, put up in houses and rooms. The valley was more scarce for houses- or houses the size they needed. 

All that surrounded her was the trees and a shallow, partially frozen creek, another small house.

The army had picked a spot as scattered and scarce as itself.

“Miss Walker?!”

Benjamin’s shout was loud in the still morning air, accompanied by the sound of thundering hooves as he rode his horse forward. He wore a cape, now, the fabric slowly cascading down his back as he came to a stop in front of her. The helmet he had worn the first night, with its long, white plume, was nowhere in sight.

She stopped and waited until he approached. “Good morning, Major Tallmadge,” she said. “I hope that I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

“You are right on time, Miss Walker.” His curt laugh brought a trail of fog, “I must admit, I am surprised you showed up after all.”

“I am not one to back out of a promise, Major.” 

Not when she was so desperate to have something in the first place.

“And I am very glad you are not the type to.” Benjamin said.

Benjamin backed away, rubbing his horse’s neck as he made a clicking noise with his tongue. He was turning around. “Shall I lead you into the camp, Miss Walker?”

“It would be an honor, Major Tallmadge.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go! Elizabeth is coming to Valley Forge! Fun historical fact- well, not so fun, but it's another detail of history I've added to the story. General Howe's army actually did destroy Valley Forge when they invaded Philadelphia. Valley Forge got its name because of, well, the iron forges and metalwork inside the valley. I hope you enjoyed reading! I'm posting two chapters today, so there'll be more to follow!


	4. Cold Frosty Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth arrives in Valley Forge for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! It's finally here! Elizabeth is in Valley Forge! And you're here reading it, so thanks for reading SS&SP! Y'all, this chapter is a doozy. I wrote a vast majority of this in three hours. Basically, when I left my computer, the sun was out. This chapter was difficult to get into, but as soon as I was able to I had a lot of fun! It feels like a weight is taken off my shoulders each time I'm able to complete a chapter/update. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

The valley was transformed.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. It was another item to add to the list of extraordinary events that were happening so quickly that it was becoming harder to keep up, harder to remember, harder to find clarity, find her footing. Brooks’ death, Benjamin’s arrival, the terribly tense dinner had led her here. They had laid out the path, the road to the valley. She had told herself it was her own will bringing her here, her own mind and heart deciding to change the way things were, but maybe it was fate. Fate had a way of happening in front of your eyes without you realizing- realizing when it was too late, realizing when it had left you helpless. Until you had nowhere else to go.

Elizabeth had nowhere to go but here.

She had nowhere to go but deep into the heart of Valley Forge.

The valley was transformed.

For so long, it had been idle, tranquil and still. A hardly significant land in the large Pennsylvania countryside, stagnant, sticking to the routine. Now, it was slowly coming to life, a limb raising out of the shallow grave. It was painfully being resurrected. The presence of newfound life hung in the air, but it was heavy. The life wouldn’t stay for long, the life was temporary. She knew it as soon as she came into contact with the soldiers, as soon as Benjamin started to lead her into camp.

The men were huddled closely together, clinging to the heat from early morning fires, sitting on pieces of lumb, stones, or the cold hard ground itself. Pieces of fabric that were once clothing, that were once pairs of breeches and shirts, hung onto their bodies like weak branches on a tree. Cloth was wrapped around their feet where fine leather boots should’ve been. They briefly looked up as Elizabeth passed, as her boot peeked out from her petticoat. There was no feeling, no expression in their eyes. Did they even know she was there? They looked right through her.

_ And where are their hats? Their blankets? Their cloaks? Is everything gone? Is the situation worse than you thought? Worse than you could’ve even imagined? _

Why didn’t he tell her it was so bad?

The valley had been transformed.

She could see it, now, see it from her spot on top of the hill, from the land in front of her. The camp was not a line of white tents, only taking up half the valley. The army had invaded it. They had begun to build a city. A city of wooden huts. Hundreds of them, from what it looked like, standing in the valley as if they were always there, a sturdy fixture and foundation. Huts, hastily built from cut down trees, from the lumber they had left. How many men were trying to survive inside them?

Not all transformations were needed or well founded.

Benjamin walked in front of her, his eyes keenly focused ahead. He didn’t acknowledge the soldiers, the occasional, weak salute given as he passed. He was a rarity amongst the infantrymen, the enlisted, with his well fit uniform, a cape to keep him warm, his sword hanging at his side, the tip touching his boots. What did she look like to them? A young girl in fine clothes, following a commanding officer through camp? Did they know what she was here to do? Had he told them?   
  


Had he told anyone?

“Where are we heading, Major Tallmadge?” she asked.

Benjamin seemed to already know the camp, expertly weaving her through the lines of tents and huts and soldiers.

"We’re heading to the edge of Knox’s artillery regiment, Miss Walker.” Without turning his head he pointed to his right, and she followed, her eyes landing on two canons, abandoned in the snow, not a man beside them, and no balls or canisters in sight. 

Would she be buying them weapons as well? Guns and powder and metal to melt into cannonballs? She didn’t know if she could handle the responsibility of it. She’d never even touched a gun, aimed a pistol. Her brother used to accompany her father on his hunts.

Elizabeth stayed home and waited.

“Why is a cavalryman staying with an artillery unit?” she called out. Benjamin’s pace had been steadily increasing the entire walk, as if he couldn’t wait to be alone, to get to work. He was jumpy, like a spooked horse.

“It’s where my men and I are temporarily staying in the encampment.” He replied,”We still have scouting missions to complete, and supply raids of our own.”

She almost stopped, “Temporarily, sir?”

Benjamin couldn’t leave her.

Not now, when she didn’t even know where she was going, where she fit in the valley. It was not the same place she had grown up. It was vast and unfamiliar, like the city she was going to be thrown into.

_ Your eagerness will be the death of you, Elizabeth. _

_ Your eagerness is what brought you here. _

“Most of my regiment- the Second Continental Light Dragoons- and some of the First will be sent across the Delaware to Trenton early next month.”

“Oh.” He didn’t answer her question, he didn’t erase her growing fear.

“Fortunately for us, Miss Walker, General Washington has ordered me to stay.” Did she hear him sigh? Or was it her own relieved exhale? “He can’t get rid of me for long.”

“Then why is the rest of your regiment leaving?”

Benjamin answered simply, nonchalantly. “We don’t have enough to feed them.”

His response chilled her more than the cold air ever could.

Suddenly he stopped, halting in front of a white tent. It was significantly larger than the others, larger than the standard. Another officer’s perk. He whirled around to face her, extending his arm. “Welcome to our de-facto Headquarters, Miss Walker. I hope it will suit you well.”

She jokingly curtsied, “Lead the way, sir.”

Benjamin stood behind her as she entered his tent.

It was chaotic as the rest of the encampment seemed to be.

A hastily made cot was set up in the far corner, only a little larger than a child’s bed. A single blanket, thinner than a quilt, was spread over the top. The small trunk carrying his belongings was beside the bed, wide open. She craned her neck to see the inside- a pile of books and another of papers. Papers. Every surface of the tent- the small desk, the trunk, the table- was covered in them, pile after pile. Scrap papers and maps and half written reports, open notes. What wasn’t covered in papers was the home to unusual trinkets, glass bottles and jars, ink blots and quills. His dragoon helmet sat beside a mirror. The plume was covering a piece of paper.

“Here, Miss Walker,” Benjamin snuck up from behind her, stepping forward and pulling out a single chair, “have a seat, if you would like. I apologize for the trek here.”

She preferred to continue standing, “It’s alright, sir. Although I find it odd that you are not allowed to ride horses throughout the camp.” He had her leave her mare in a spare stall in the camp stables, hidden behind his.

“We don’t want to raise suspicion,” he told her. “Well, more than we already are.”

Did he really walk everywhere? Is that why Benjamin knew it so well?

“Only Washington rides through camp,” Benjamin said. “As frequently as he can. We have to keep an eye out for his patrols.”

“What?”

It was easy to understand why he wanted to hide her from the other soldiers, from wandering eyes with easy lips. The soldiers had nothing to entertain themselves except gossip. 

They couldn’t see the hands that were about to feed them.

But why was he hiding her from Washington? Why was he keeping her a secret from his commander? Why did he want to? Why did he need to? Why was she something to hide, something to cover up? Why was she risking herself for him if she was not going to be given credit?

And why-

“Why does Washington not know?”

Before Benjamin could answer, the flap of the tent was torn open.

“Major Tallmadge!”

Lafayette walked in, flanked by Colonel Hamilton on his right and Captain Tilghman on his left, his smile as bright and as high as the morning sun. He strutted in, removing his leather gloves in one swift motion and stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. Over it, he wore a dark garrick cape, mirroring the one General Washington wore to dinner- although Lafayette’s appeared to be of a better quality. His cocked hat was gold trimmed, along with the cockade at the front.

Hamilton and Tilghman moved away from him, wearing the same capes as Benjamin. Yet they all wore leather gloves. She had chosen her favorite knit mitts, lovingly repaired by Mary.

“Our co-conspirators have arrived, Miss Walker.” Benjamin said. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Hamilton tilted his head toward the outside of the tent, “It’s dreadfully cold, Tallmadge. We tried to leave breakfast early to escape the worst of it, but to no avail.”

Benjamin was alert at the mention of breakfast, “Did Washington notice?”

“No,” Hamilton replied. “The old man is so tired he barely said a single word to us. He’s using all of his energy to get this camp in order.”

Elizabeth felt a pinch of shame, “I do hope you did not skip breakfast to escort me here, Major Tallmadge.”

The men all shared an awkward glance with one another.

“I don’t eat with the General, Miss Walker-”

Tilghman interjected, “Tallmadge eats breakfast with his men, Miss Walker. As a respectable officer is one to do.” He gave her a kind grin. “You look lovely today, by the way.”

“Thank you, Captain.” So far, he had been the only one to acknowledge her.

“Oh!” Lafayette exclaimed. He faced Elizabeth, eagerly grabbing both of her gloved hands. “I almost forgot to greet you, Miss Walker. I am elated that you have agreed to help our cause. We cannot thank you enough. It’s exciting, is it not?”

“Yes,” she said. “Very exciting.”

So exciting she felt her heart beating in her chest, she felt her hands beginning to shake.

What she was doing, what she was about to do, had been slowly setting in, slowly stirring deep within in the entire morning. The feeling was growing, expanding. She didn’t know how to stop it.

“And,” Hamilton commented, “I see you have already committed to your part.” 

He was staring at her outfit.

Elizabeth was wearing her mother’s clothes.

Mary had unlocked the door to her chamber- her mother’s bedchamber, closed off from the world for a decade, for a decade since she had died- and beelined over to the closet, beckoning Elizabeth to follow her. The last time she had been in the room was the last time she saw her mother. She had been laying in the bed, her head raised towards the ceiling, her eyes open as she took shaky, swift breaths, her hair spread over the pillows she was propped up against. She hadn’t been wearing any of her beautiful clothes, the exquisite gowns Elizabeth had always admired, had always been jealous of. She was sweating through her shift.

“Here,” Mary dug into a chest, and revealed her treasure. 

She held up a riding habit, and a pair of black leather boots. “Will this do, Miss Lizzie?”

“Oh, Mary, it’s perfect.”   


So Mary had dressed her in her mother’s clothes in her mother’s room. She laced her into a pair of her mother’s stays, she held her mother’s coat as Elizabeth walked into it. 

Just as Mary’s mother had done for Elizabeth’s. 

For a minute, Elizabeth imagined she was her mother, and that she was happy.

That her life hadn’t changed.

For the worst.

The riding habit was made of red wool.

The same red the British wore on their backs.

Now, her cheeks were turning the damned color.  _ You foolish girl, wearing red to the continental camp. So much for blending in, for hiding away.  _ “Forgive me, Colonel Hamilton, I didn’t realize-” she looked at Benjamin. ‘Are we allowed to wear red in camp?”

Benjamin rolled his eyes, brushing it off. “Ignore him, Miss Walker. We have more pressing matters to attend to than your fashion sense.”

“I think red suits you, Miss Walker.” Lafayette said.

“Thank you, Marquis.”

Benjamin cleared his throat, “Onto the matters at hand.” 

He stood up straighter, taking the attention and focus of the group into his hands. Elizabeth felt compelled to listen to him, to trust him. 

She was tired of coming up with the plan herself.

He pointed at two maps- a map of Philadelphia, similar to the one hanging in her father’s study. Beside it was a freshly constructed, freshly drawn out map of the winter camp. 

_ Pay attention, Elizabeth.  _ She told herself.  _ You’ll be spending all of your time here, or there. _

Anything was better than empty rooms in a lonely home.

“Getting into Philadelphia will be easy, Miss Walker. You leave your house in the early evening and arrive before midnight, just before all the best parties begin. You won’t stay for the entire duration of it- just long enough to make yourself known to who we want to know you.” Benjamin paused, picking up one of the many books, “This is a detailed description of the high ranking British officers and loyalist citizens of Philadelphia. You’ll try to get as many of them as you can.”

_ How? _

How did she seduce a man? Did she look deep into his eyes? Did she ask him to dance, let his hand linger on her waist for a minute too long? Did she kiss him, did she let him do whatever he wanted with her?

_ How? _

_ How far do I have to go? _

Instead, she asked. “And what name do I use to get into these parties, Major?”

“We give you an alias. A second identity. A second life.”

A change in scenery  _ and  _ identity.

The excitement was returning at lightning speed.

“And not just one alias,” Lafayette added. “At least several. Several names belonging to the extinct or endangered noble families of Great Britain.”

“And what about my first name? Will I be allowed to call myself “Elizabeth?”

Was she allowed to hold onto anything?

Benjamin shook his head, “A good alias is one that doesn’t have any clues leading back to. They need to be completely different. And slightly outlandish. Like the name Samuel Culpeper.”

“Samuel Culpeper?” She chuckled. “I pray you give me a more dignified name than that, Major.”

“I’ll try my best, Miss Walker.”

“So that’s it?” Hamilton asked. “She goes to a ball, hooks an officer, and bleeds his pockets dry?”

Benjamin answered him, but his eyes were on her. “Yes.”

“It sounds easier than it should be, Tallmadge.” Tilghman said.

“You only need to do one thing to get them to do it, Miss Walker.” 

Benjamin was still looking at her.

“Which is?”

“Make them pity you.”

_ Oh, Elizabeth, how easy that will be. _

_ Your real life is pitiful enough. _

“I can do it,” she said.

“See?” Benjamin raised his eyes at the men, “I told you to have faith in her.”

“And what role do I play in this, Major Tallmadge?” Lafayette finally spoke up. 

Her father said General Lafayette was here for glory, and maybe that was slightly true. She didn’t know him long enough to tell what was rumor and what was fact. But instead of zealousness and ambition in his eyes, Elizabeth only saw kindness, an eagerness to help. He cared about the cause and the army as much as anyone here. As much as General Washington himself. If he couldn't help them, then they needed to quit while they were ahead.

“If you’re willing, you will be Miss Walker’s tutor in the social graces of our pompous enemy, and our benefactor, if need be.”

The marquis had as much money as she did.

Lafayette beamed. “I would be honored to be your educator in the ways of the English, Miss Walker. I’ll try to be as good as your governess must have been.”

_ I never had a governess _ , she wanted to say.

Her mother died before she had the chance to hire one.

“Now,” Benjamin moved away from the map of Philadelphia for the map of the encampment, “we move onto the camp itself. As soon as the money is available, you’ll buy the supplies, Miss Walker. First you’ll go throughout the state. Philadelphia, if there’s anything left. York and Lancaster. The storehouses in Reading and Carlisle. After that, wherever we think of. Across state lines, or across the river to Jersey.”

“I was unaware that  _ I  _ would be buying the supplies, Major.”

“Do you have a problem with it?”

_ This is what you’ve always wanted, Elizabeth. The city and the parties and the traveling. The running and never looking back. _

“Of course not.”

“Good.” Benjamin turned his attention to the Tilghman, who had been leaning against the empty chair. "Tilghman, you and Miss Walker should get to know yourselves rather well.”

“And why is that?” Tilghman pushed in the chair.

“You will be accompanying her on these travels as her husband.”

“And why is that?” 

Why could she not buy things herself?

Why was she getting the cash if wasn't hers to spend?

“No offense, Miss Walker,” Benjamin delicately picked his words, “but merchants will have a harder time bargaining with a man than a young lady.”

“It’s just the way of the world, Miss Walker.” Tilghman tried to comfort her, like a good husband.

“Forgive my naivety, gentlemen.” 

It seemed to be getting in the way more often than usual.

“And what about when the supplies get into camp?” Hamilton shrugged. “Do you plan on letting the men go wild and fight for them?”

“Very funny, Hamilton,” Benjamin said. “And we won’t be buying supplies for the entire camp. Think of it as a trickle down effect. We’ll do multiple regiments at a time. One section of camp to the next. And the unloading spot,” his finger landed near the top of the map, “will be here.”

They all leaned forward and huddled together to look.

“Oh, that is  _ rich _ , Tallmadge.”

The spot was dangerously close to Washington’s headquarters. 

“Washington can’t know about this, yet you chose to pick a spot to have this all unfold right outside his window. How clever of you, Tallmadge.”

“Hamilton is right,” she couldn’t help but agree. “It seems risky.”

“Risky, yes,” Benjamin said. “But necessary. Headquarters connects to every road leading in and out of the valley.”

“And,” he added, referring to himself and the other men, “we all know his daily schedule. We know when he’ll be preoccupied.”

Lafayette sighed, his face troubled. “I don’t like lying to him, Tallmadge.”

“You get used to it,” Hamilton said.

“So that’s the plan?”

That was what she was going to do to try and save them?

That was what she had to pull off, over and over again?

“Yes, Miss Walker.”

“I will try my best, Major.”

She had to try.

“Thank you, Miss Walker."

“Wait,” Hamilton managed to find another thing to comment on, “What about controlling the finances? Managing the inventory?”

“Of course that is under my control,” Elizabeth said.

Her words collided with Benjamin’s.

“That would be your duty, Colonel Hamilton.”

“Excuse me?”

If there was one thing Elizabeth knew, it was how to solve problems. It was how to handle numbers, it was how to see through variables for what they really were, what they were meant to be. When her mother died, she had begged Elizabeth’s father to continue her education. And he had.

Just not in the way she anticipated.

She did not know the ways of society, or the way people lived, or the way she was meant to live her own life. But she knew money and numbers. She knew her father’s accounting books, his ledgers. She knew how to handle his checkbook. She knew how to count the amount of medicines on his shelf and the amount of goods brought in and taken away. She knew how much each servant was paid and who was where on the payroll. She knew the amounts her father used to charge for each and every one of his medical services, and how to record them.

He taught her everything he didn’t teach Joseph.

“I need someone like you here, Lizzie.” He used to tell her. “Someone smart and rational and calculating. Someone with a brain wired for these sorts of things.”

It was the only thing her father had ever given her.

And she wouldn’t let Benjamin take it from her.

Not when she was giving him so much of herself.

“I can handle the finances, sirs. And the inventory.”

They all turned to her, eyes wide, mouths open, looking at her the way they did at the dinner, when the wine was staining her dress.

“Miss Walker,” Hamilton held out a hand, “are you sure? I am incredibly experienced-”

She cut him off. “And I am educated in these matters as well as I can be, Colonel. My father trusts and taught me how to handle the finances and inventory of his vast estate.”

“An army’s supply chain is very different from a country estate, Miss Walker.”

“And I would like to see so for myself, sir.”

“If Miss Walker wants to do the recordkeeping, let her do the recordkeeping.”

She felt a smile coming onto her face, “Thank you, Major.”

“Besides,” Tilghman chimed in, “you have enough things to write, Hamilton. We all do.” He stepped forward, towards the tent flap. “I think our work is done for today. Wouldn’t you agree, Tallmadge?”

“Yes.” 

“We shall see you when you return from your first party, Miss Walker.” Lafayette tipped his hat, “God bless you.”

“And you, Marquis.”

Lafayette and the aides were gone as quickly as they arrived.

She let herself breathe when she and Benjamin were alone in the tent. We should get you home,” he said, after a moment of silence that they both needed. “You have to prepare. And I have other matters to attend to here in camp.”

She didn’t want to leave.

Elizabeth headed towards the outside.

“Wait, may I ask you something, Miss Walker?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you agree to doing this so quickly?” Benjamin tilted his head quizzically. “Why - why did you agree to help me?”

_ Because you want to help people- you want to feel needed- as much as you want to break free. _

_ You’re killing two birds with one stone, Elizabeth. _

Benjamin didn’t need to know, though.

“I trust you, Major Tallmadge.” She said. “I believe in well made plans. And, maybe, a hint of providence. That was what my mother believed in most of all.”

Even if providence didn’t save her in the end.

“Providence,” he said, with something between a sigh and a laugh. He was remembering, “is one of my father’s favorite words. He used to preach it when I was young.”

“Your father is a preacher?” She asked. For some reason, she thought he’d be like hers, like Laurens’- a statesman, or a man with enough money to let his son take a commission in an army that couldn’t pay him.

“Yes.” Benjamin nodded. “Your trust now rests in the hands of a preacher’s son, Miss Walker.”

Did he trust her as much as she trusted him?

It certainly felt like he did.

“I think it will be safe kept, Major.”

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

And she trusted him to help her do it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a lot, huh? I hope you enjoyed it! One of the things I love most about SS&SP is the dynamic between Elizabeth, Benjamin, and the other aides or members of the "military family." Although they didn't really show up in Turn, I think they should've. But I'm proud of the dynamic and situation I've created for them, and I hope you all like it. Also, time for more facts learned in my research rabbit hole! 1. The first and second Dragoons actually did stay with Knox's artillery regiment while staying at Valley Forge. I found this out not through maps, but camp rosters I was able to track down. And 2. Tallmadge and his Dragoons actually did spend the winter of 1777-1778 in Trenton, NJ rather than Valley Forge. But I couldn't have Benjamin leave the valley. I have a lot in store for him ;). Thanks for reading!


	5. Leaving for Philadelphia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth thinks about the decision she's made. Was it the right one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, it's me! I'm sorry it's been so long- I said I was going to write after I got settled into school, and then some shit happened. My anxiety is having a field day putting me through the ringer. Anyway, enough about me, onto the chapter. I'm just getting back into writing, so apologies if it's a little rusty. Thank you for reading SS&SP and Liz's story. I hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments appreciated!

She was thinking about the day her mother died.

Not the day when she took her final breath, when she let out a slow, shaky exhale and held onto her husband’s hand. Not when her father reached over to close her eyes, when he told a servant to pull Elizabeth out of the room, away from her. Not when she became a body, and not a person, a living soul. She was thinking about the day her mother was truly gone, when it set in that she was alone, she was abandoned, as if either of them had had a choice in the first place.

She was thinking about her mother’s funeral.

She remembered the carriage ride to the church. They had left early in the morning, just a few hours after dawn broke. The sun hadn’t risen, blocked by the dreary and damp late October fog. It had disappeared at the beginning of the week, and it seemed as if it would never return. It seemed as if the sun had gone, and her mother followed. The carriage they rode in was new, and had been waiting in the carriage house until that day, until they had to go to that special destination. The funeral preparations were made months in advance- Maria Walker was an excellent planner. She enjoyed the high society life, writing guest lists for suppers and balls. Elizabeth remembered seeing the arrangements on her mother’s lap desk, when she was still able to sit up straight, still able to write and talk as if nothing had changed except the way she carried herself, except the way she looked. The papers were scattered across the wooden surface and mattress. She had arranged the seating in the pews, the dinner menu and the hymns played in her honor. All of it, written in her own delicate, perfect hand. She had even chosen the color of the seats for the carriage they rode in. The carriage that drove behind her coffin.

Maria Walker may not have had a choice in dying, but she chose how she would do it.

She was thinking about her mother’s funeral.

She remembered being inside the church, sitting in the first pew next to her brother. She had pulled up her skirts to sit on her knees and look out into the rows of pews behind her- the entire sanctuary was full, a sea of black clothes and hats. Everyone she had known for the first ten years of her life was there, along with her mother’s family from Virginia and people she had never met formally- friends of her father’s, his conspirators in the brewing troubles.  _ All of Philadelphia is here _ , she had thought, and it almost made her smile. It was what her mother wanted, and what she deserved. A sad, adoring crowd of people, tears in their eyes as they listened to the reverend preach and pray for her soul. It was the biggest crowd she had ever been in. 

It was the  _ last  _ crowd she had ever been in.

She was thinking about her mother’s funeral.

She remembered watching as the guests left, as the church became empty and they all ducked into their carriages to be driven to Walker Manor for dinner and drinks. She remembered her father taking her hand, saying “Come now, Lizzie.” She remembered following him and Joseph into the graveyard. Fog still hung heavy in the air, and now there was a drizzle, a misty rain. The ground they dug for the grave was wet, and the grass the coffin lay on was damp. She desperately wanted the sun- her mother deserved to rest in sunlight. She had never done anything to deserve a cold, wet grave. She had done nothing to deserve a day dedicated to her- dedicated to her only after she suffered, only after she had been hanging on the edge of living and dying months, only after she was weak enough that she accepted defeat.  _ And what did I do?  _ She remembered thinking, as the rain started to pour and the coffin- no, her  _ mother _ \- was lowered into the ground.  _ What did I do to have her taken from me?  _

And what she remembered, what she remembered most of all and had never been able to truly let go of, to truly forget, was the unfamiliar feeling. It was everywhere- her body, a pit in the bottom of her stomach, and a constant, racing thought in her mind. The feeling that the world around her was fake, that it had shattered like china and burst into a million pieces at her feet. She would never be able to rebuild what she once had, she would have to live amongst the ruins, the remnants of a past that felt fake and constructed, contrived from her childish memory and imagination. She was somewhere else, and would never be able to go back to the way things were. She would never be able to go back to the home she once had and the life she had once lived. Her house still stood, and the landscape had not changed, but it was not hers. Nothing was. She was unfamiliar not only with the world, but herself.

_ And did it ever go away? _

The world was once again unfamiliar- she knew she was in the valley, but it had changed. What was once tranquil and still was now treacherous and deadly. She knew she was being led through camp, past the tents and the huts, but it didn’t register, it didn’t feel as if they were real, tangible. She was walking through a dream, a vision. How could the valley change so quickly, without warning?

_ And how will you? _

How could she change when she did not even know who she was, where she was going? Why did she agree to it? Why had she let him make a plan? Why did she say “Yes?”

_ You have done this to yourself, Elizabeth. You have brought yourself into this dream, this nightmare, and now there is no way 0ut. A plan has been made. You have been told to follow it. And you will, because what choice do you have? _

She was going to be thrown from the world that felt fake and forced to a world that did not belong to her, a world that she had never been a part of, a world she did not deserve to live in-

“Are you excited to go back into the city, Miss Walker?”

Benjamin.

His voice was a temporary distraction, slightly startling her and pulling her down onto the ground. He walked in front of her just as he did earlier, leading her away from the camp instead of into. There was a new energy in his steps, in the way he was carrying himself down the line of tents and the huts- a quiet confidence. It was  _ determination _ . It was a hint of the passion she saw the night they met, fresh from the heat of battle, but too late to act on anything. 

Brooks died before Benjamin even entered the room.

_ You gave him that determination, Elizabeth. He feels like he has control- he has a way to solve his problem- because of you. He is counting on you. _

_ They all are. _

She couldn’t let him down.

Now matter how much she thought she should.

She straightened herself, forced a response through gritted teeth, a fake smile-  _ you’ll have to wear it even more, now.  _ “Excited is not the word I would use for going into enemy territory, Major.”

Benjamin briefly glanced back, “Really? Do you not miss it, Miss Walker? I am sure Philadelphia is more exciting than this valley could ever be.”

How could she miss something she knew so little of? Or is that why she was feeling so uneasy, so unlike herself, so unsure of everything? Did she miss her piece of Philadelphia, taken away from her- along with the sun, along with her mother? A piece so small and insignificant it wouldn’t leave a mark on the city. Philadelphia had its share of Walkers. It did not need her, and did she even want it now? Was a part of her still begging for it back?

_ Yes. _

_ Always yes. _

She had lost the city years ago.

Benjamin didn’t need to know, though.

_ Yes,  _ she told herself,  _ you know he does. _

_ Not yet. _

It seemed to be the case with a lot of things.

“The valley has had its fair share of excitement, Major Tallmadge,” she responded, “and I’m sure it will only grow with the arrival of the soldiers.”

Benjamin nodded, “Perhaps once they have food in their bellies and a warm blanket to sleep under. Thanks to you, Miss Walker.”

Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to add to the pressure, why did he have to make her heart drop even further into her stomach? A saying thrown into the wind, meaning nothing to him, but to her it was another spiral, another thought to fester on, another reason to have guilt and fear swirl around inside her, taking the air from her lungs and the steadiness, the idleness.

It would be worse if the fear manifested itself, if she let it win.

The plan would die as soon as she showed the slightest hesitation. 

Benjamin wouldn’t force her to go through with it- he was too kind. Even if he trusted her instantly, even if he let her agree and contribute to what needed to be done, even if he had his faith in her. If she said no, so would he.

Only she could follow the path she was set out on.

_ And you will, Elizabeth. _

_ Make your bed and lie in it. _

But the panic only increased as they reached the end of the line, leaving Knox’s artillery regiment and the scattered Dragoons behind. It only increased as Benjamin momentarily left her, calling out to the groom to bring the horse for Miss Walker.

She was going home- she had no choice now, she had nowhere to run. She was going home, and she was going to have to tell Mary to pull one of her mother’s old dresses out of the wardrobe, to do her hair, to help her get ready for a party. A party she couldn’t describe, a party she had no idea about.

She was leaving for Philadelphia tonight.

“Here you are, Miss Walker.” Benjamin approached with the groom- a young boy in a scrappy uniform, looking impossibly waifish as he stood between Benjamin and her well fed mare. He didn’t make eye contact as he handed over the reins- but he did look at her. He did look at her clothes, at her leather boots.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and the groom nodded before walking disappearing back into the stables. Was he so cold and tired he couldn’t even speak? Or was he terrified, like she was?

“Have a safe ride home, Miss Walker,” Benjamin started, “and once again, I cannot thank you enough-”

“Hey, Bennyboy!”

A cheerful voice traveled through the air, the most life she had heard in the valley by far, followed by footsteps belonging to the silhouette of a man- a soldier? One of Benjamin’s Dragoons? 

Benjamin held out a hand, signaling for her to wait, to stay where she was, and she gladly accepted.

It meant she wouldn’t have to go home.

“Miss Walker,” Benjamin’s face expressed a hint of pleasure as he spoke that was missing when he had greeted the aides and General Lafayette earlier, “allow me to introduce you to my colleague, Lieutenant Brewster.”

It was hard to believe the man standing in front of her was an officer. He was out of uniform, wearing a long, leather coat, a wide brimmed hat covering his face from the biting cold. His clothes underneath were as ragged as the common soldiers’, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He looked impossibly at ease, comfortable with himself. It was a quality none of the others had shown.

She held out her hand, “Good morning, Lieutenant.” 

The lieutenant looked over at Benjamin, “Aye, she’s rather formal, ain’t she?” 

Before she could be embarrassed, before she could object, he took her hand and shook it with vigor, a grin plastered on his face, hidden behind his thick, dark beard. “There’s no need for that, Miss Walker. Just call me Caleb. Caleb Brewster.”

“If that is what you’d prefer, Lieutenant-” she stopped herself, and he chuckled. “Caleb.”

“Now that’s better.” He nodded, raised his eyebrows before he asked, “So you’re her, then? The girl from Philadelphia? The one Ben here was hell bent on writing a letter to?” He playfully nudged Benjamin with his elbow, and Elizabeth found herself blushing at the thought of Benjamin talking about her, at Caleb’s infectious happiness and giddiness. 

“I was just trying to express my thanks,” Benjamin said.

“Yes,” she said, “I am. My name is Elizabeth. But I live down the road from the encampment, sir. I’m not a citizen of the city.” 

“Miss Walker will be helping us get supplies, Caleb,” Benjamin explained, meeting her eyes with a knowing glance.

Did Caleb know? Did he know what she was asked to do, what she agreed to? Or was Benjamin keeping it a secret- a secret from Caleb, a secret from General Washington, a secret from the entire army she was going to try and keep afloat?

“Ah,” Caleb nodded, “I’m sure you will do well, Miss Walker. Isn’t your father part of our blessed congress? I’m sure you know Philadelphia like the back of your hand.”

“Of course,” the need to defend herself, to lie even more, suddenly appeared, and she couldn’t get rid of it, “just because I do not live in the city daily doesn’t mean I don’t relish in its delights.” 

Caleb leaned forward, giving Benjamin a look- a look she couldn’t read, a look she couldn’t understand. Did he think she didn’t see? Or did he want her to? Was he playing a game, pulling her leg? She never thought about how strange she acted, how out of place she seemed. Was she easy to trick, like an innocent, naïve child? “Really? And where would a lad like myself go for a good time, Miss Walker?”

At first, she didn’t understand why he would ask such a question, why would he care? And then, she realized. She realized when she didn’t answer, she realized when Caleb was still looking at her, his easygoing, calm demeanor dissolving, the veil falling for a split second- only she saw it, the secret message, the code written out.

_ He sees right through you, Elizabeth. _

He saw through the forced smile on her face, the lie she forced between her teeth. Did he see it when her hands started to shake? Did he see her for what she truly was- a cold, lonely wisp of a girl, with nowhere to go, no one to turn to? A girl with no place in any world- the one she had been given or the one she was trying to change, trying to take for herself? 

She wanted to run- she wanted to turn back, close her eyes and pretend none of it happened. Anything to take her away from this place, from the valley, which suddenly seemed too vast, dragging her down into its depths like she was ship on the stormy sea- shaking and rocking on the waves, waiting to be destroyed, tired of staying afloat.

_ Elizabeth, you can’t. _

But what if she did? What if she said no- what if she screamed it? How would she survive if this was her breaking point, if this was what brought the whole thing down? A simple question, a piece of a harmless conversation? If she couldn’t fool him, how would she hook a British officer? 

How would she do  _ anything? _

_ The way you always do- with a smile on your face and your thoughts buried deep in your chest. One minute, one hour, one day. _

_ For yourself and for them. _

_ For him- for Benjamin. _

“Why the City Tavern of course,” she said suddenly, letting the words out without hesitating. She remembered the name from her father’s conversations, from nights when Joseph came stumbling home and she foolishly asked where he was, “it is the most popular bar in Philadelphia.” But she didn’t know if that was true, and she couldn’t tell Caleb what street it was on or even what the sign hanging over the door looked like. 

There was silence as she waited to see if she hit the target, if she won the game. If she saved her cover, and herself.

“Is that so?” Caleb asked.

“Yes.” She forced herself not to whisper, to not look away.

And then, he smiled, but it was not genuine, it was not real. He was lying as much as she was.

“Well, when all of this is over,” he cocked his head toward the camp, “I’ll take you to the tavern, Miss Walker, and I’ll buy you a drink, as a thank you.”

“Why thank you, Caleb.” She bowed her head, “You are quite the gentleman.”

“I try to be.” He took a step backward, reaching out to pat Benjamin’s shoulder. “I best get going, Ben.” He tipped his hat, “Good luck, Lizzie.”

_ Lizzie? _

“Goodbye, Caleb.”

And then he was gone- then it was only her and Benjamin. Benjamin, who didn’t seem to notice, or who was so desperate he didn’t care.

“Is there anything else you need, Miss Walker?”

_ Yes, there is. _

“May I ask you for another favor, Major? If you are not too busy.”

“I can make room in my schedule for you, Miss.”

“Can you please escort me on my ride home?”

-

Elizabeth never wanted to be alone.

It was a common fact- her need for company, the desire for someone else beside her. It was a constant, something that would never change, would never fully go away. And it always reared its teeth during the worst moments, when it was impossible to escape. It waited and it festered, like an infection, a fever. 

And she couldn’t be alone now. Not when she was still filled with dread, not when she was recovering from the fact someone saw her, someone  _ knew _ . Not when she was going home, riding out of the valley, through the woods. While the valley was wide and pulled you down, the woods were narrow, with long lines of trees surrounding both sides of the empty roads. They forced you to be with yourself, with your thoughts. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to escape from them. 

And what she wanted most was to escape them, just for a little, just for as long as she was able to. She was always clinging to something, always telling herself that-  _ for as long as you are able to. _ She wanted to escape the uncertainty of today, of the night still to come. And what happened after that, and after whatever happened after that and- she wanted to escape the past and the present and the future. It all seemed to blend together. 

She realized early on the only way to escape the crushing and crippling thoughts, the dread and the loneliness and all that came with it, was to try her hardest to find someone. To make sure she wasn’t alone.

Benjamin rode beside her.

Next to her on the long road home, his horse keeping in step with hers, a steady pace as they left the encampment and entered the woods behind it. The valley’s usual quiet had returned as they rode out of earshot of the tents and the huts, the soldiers and their miserable daily life. It was only the horses’ hoofbeats, it was only the occasional bird or rustle of the dead leaves on the ground as a faint wind danced with them.

Benjamin was a natural rider- he had a fine seat, sitting up straight, calmly holding the reins and taking charge. He rode as if he was simply walking, as if it were second nature and he had been doing it forever. He rode with confidence, he rode with dignity. Was it the way all cavalry was trained, or was it purely just his personality? 

“It’s a beautiful morning,” he said, looking through the visor of his helmet- he had hurried back to his tent to grab it before they left, nonchalantly tucking it under his arm. The helmet added to his persona, to the way he looked on a horse- not just a soldier, but an officer. 

“When we first arrived in the valley, there was a terrible storm,” he added. “You couldn’t see in front of you or behind you. Some of the men had to hold onto each other just to stay upright.”

“I’m aware,” she said, “I do live here, Major. I see the same things that you do.”

Benjamin cringed, “Forgive me, Miss Walker. For a moment, I forgot where we were headed."

“I understand,” she responded, “it’s all happening so fast, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Benjamin turned to look at her, “But it must happen this way, Miss Walker. We have run out of time.”

_ And you have nothing but time. _

His face softened, and his eyes were reassuring when he spoke next, “I hope you are not too worried, Miss Walker. I’ve seen you act quickly.” He was referring to the night with Brooks- the way she stopped the screaming, the way she jumped in front of Mary and kept him at bay. 

“I have to adjust to situations as fast as possible, Major.” She said. “I’m sure you know the feeling.”

“All too well.”

An uneasiness was starting to rise in the air between them, and she needed to cut it down. “May I ask something, Major Tallmadge?”

He gave his usual answer, “Of course.”

“How did you meet Lieutenant- I mean Caleb Brewster?” She had been thinking about it since she first met him, since she first saw them standing next to each other- Benjamin in his uniform and cape, Caleb in his long leather coat and ragged clothes. Yet somehow they fit together. Benjamin was comfortable around him- still siff, but not as stiff as he was when he was speaking to Lafayette, or Hamilton, or Tilghman. Caleb brought out a hint of a different side of him, a different man. They were obviously close. “I don’t mean to offend you, sir, but you are an officer to the fullest degree, and he is-”

Benjamin cut her off with a head shake and a laugh, “A madman?”

“If you want to put it like that,” she said. 

“Caleb and I are childhood friends- brothers, more like. We grew up together.”

“In Setauket?” She somehow remembered the name.

“Yes. We spent everyday together as boys, well into our teens- before I went off to Yale, and he went off to become a privateer.” 

“A privateer?!” She had only heard of them in stories, but from what she recalled reading, the title fit Caleb well, by the looks of him. 

“Part time soldier, part time privateer,” Benjamin replied. “Or at least that’s what he’ll tell you.”

“What different paths you two ended up on,” she remarked.

He sighed wistfully, as if he couldn’t believe it either- did he enjoy talking about home? Or was it painful? “You wouldn’t think that if you knew us as boys. We got into our fair share of trouble.”

“I cannot imagine you getting into childhood antics, Major.”

Another laugh, “Oh, believe me, Miss Walker. I was not always a gentleman.”

“For some reason I find that hard to believe,” she said. “I’m sure you were still kind and charming back home. The local girls must’ve adored you.”

_ Elizabeth, what did you just say? _

Was Benjamin blushing, or was it just the cold wind hitting his cheeks?

“I fear I cannot answer that question for you, Miss Walker,” he said.

They were almost home-  _ she  _ was almost home. The woods were melting away like the early winter snow as they entered the clearing before Walker Manor, the crossroads between her home and the rest of the valley. The house was becoming closer with each step- she could see up the long dirt road that led to her front door, to her empty house.

It was time to be alone.

“I can take it from here, Major Tallmadge.” She signaled her mare to move further, distancing herself from him. “You need to get back to camp.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Walker.” He followed suit and moved backward, “Thank you for a quaint morning ride. I solemnly get to do it.”

“No,” she shook her head, “thank you for the company.” It meant more than words could say.

“If you can do one more thing for me, Miss Walker, do not thank me. It is I who should be thanking you, always. You are much more than what is asked of you.” He spoke with such conviction it was hard to look at him- how could he not see how scared she was? How could he not see the fear of failure clinging to her like a second skin? How could he put all his faith in her?

_ And how could you let him? _

_ You should be ashamed of yourself, Elizabeth. _

She was.

“Goodbye, Major Tallmadge.”

He tipped his helmet as he turned away, “God bless you, Miss Walker.”

_ You’re going to need it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter in the books, finally! Once again, I apologize for the wait. I hope it was worth it! My favorite parts of the chapter have to be the opening and the Ben and Liz banter- I love writing it, and them. Next chapter is Elizabeth's first time in Philadelphia- will she sink or swim? Thank you for reading SS&SP! If you want to hear more about my story or my mess of a life, be sure to follow me on tumblr at tallmadgeandtea! I also have several SS&SP one shots posted there :).


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